


Legacy

by Chimknj



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Deadly Class (Comics), Deadly Class (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Masturbation, Mentions of Death, Modern Assassins (Assassin's Creed), Romance, Self-Discovery, Semi-Public Sex, Wet Dream, this is pretty tame compared to what I normally write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-20 02:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimknj/pseuds/Chimknj
Summary: "You'll be surprised how many people don't know they have Assassin's blood." Maelyn Dorian is about to find out one of those persons.





	1. The Hubris of Children

_“You must not let it fall back into their hands, Maelyn. If it does, the Templars will destroy everything in their path; freedom of speech, freedom of thought and free will itself.”_

_“I understand, Papa.”_

_“This is strictly an extraction, you hear? You are going in, getting the files, and coming back out. No engaging the enemy.”_

_“But, Papa, what if…” the words stayed stubborn on her tongue, “What if he’s there?”_

_Her father looked down on her with determined eyes, “He won’t be. Trust me. Even if he is, you are ordered to stand down. Get the information and come right back to us. The information in those files is key to locating the Apple. If we get it first, we have a means of protecting humanity. Okay?”_

_It took her a moment to push the thought away. She needed to focus. “Okay.”_

_“Remember, Maelyn: Nothing is true.”_

_“Everything is permitted.”_

_“Now go.”_

She slipped quietly from the air duct. Soft-soles touching the carpeted floors, she stared around at the office space. Dozens of cubicles filled the dark room, computers turned off and not a soul in sight. Large windows showed the San Francisco streets outside; the city buzzed below the twenty-three story building. The cars resembled toys on a tiny race track; the lights looked like fairy lights on Christmas trees. She stared down for a moment to admire the view, but then quickly looked away. She needed to stay focused; she didn’t have a lot of time. Maelyn Dorian scanned across the blocked off desks to see the glass doors at the end of the room. Behind them she had a view of an empty office. His office. Pulling a bandana over half her face, her hood covering the top half, Maelyn grabbed a sticker sheet. She unstuck one of the yellow happy faces, jumped and plastered it to the security camera right above her. Carefully, she went through the room doing this until she reached the door. 

He’ll have security alarms put in place. Brown eyes gazed up the doors where two red dots faced back at her. She knew if she opened the door, it’d sound the alarms and guards will be all over her. Swinging her backpack in front of her, Maelyn took out the glass cutter that she stuck on the door. Extending the handle, she pressed it on the exact point then began gradually cutting a hole. Opening the door will trigger the guards, but not cutting through it. Once she’d cut a hole wide enough, she crawled through; doing her best not to touch the locked doors. When she finally got inside, she scanned the room. Sleek furniture decorated the room along with fake potted plants and framed degrees and certificates. Above a fireplace in a lounge area was a picture of a balding man in a black suit. Dark beady eyes matched his hair, and his light skin made him stand out to the background. She supposed he’d asked the painter to straighten his nose and thicken his lips. 

Sergio Montoya was the new CEO of Abstergo Industries. This also made him a Templar Master; though sources and information point to him being a Grandmaster. Maelyn’s blood boiled at the sight of him. She clenched her fists until her gloves stretched tightly over her knuckles. She’d kill him one day. She’d make him pay. Grandmaster or not, he’d killed her. Montoya took away the one person who made her life complete; he’d stabbed a hole into her that can’t be replaced. Her father told her Assassins did not use their skills to fulfill personal vendettas. Her mother would’ve wanted her to stick to finding Pieces of Eden and keeping them from Templar hands; not go chasing a man so out of reach. Unfortunately, tonight she wasn’t in his office. No, tonight she’d entered the office of William Washington, a Templar working in Abstergo. Her father said despite being lower in the ranks, he’d been entrusted with “classified information; strictly need-to-know”. She’d need to break into his office-which she’d done-and find those papers-which she will. 

When she spotted his computer behind her, she rushed for it. Her watch read ‘12:40 am’. Damn! In twenty minutes, a guard will do his patrol round on the floor. She needed to act quickly. Turning on the computer, she grabbed a floppy disk from her bag and slid it inside. Quickly, she skimmed around various files but found nothing of value. Then she found the classified folders. This should be easy. With a few computer commands, backdoors and viruses, she found a folder titled “Project Blue 45” and “Project Gold 67”. They required passwords to be downloaded. She then remembered the numbers she’d been given: 524687. She typed them in, and she gained access. Washington made this far too easy. It worried her but only for a moment. Her curiosity wanted to open the files so she’d have an idea; time pressed against it. She saved every folder she found into the disk. 

_“Look into his safe, if you can. He may be hiding other information there.”_

As the disk downloaded the files, she stepped up to the nearest wall. He won’t have the safe sitting out in the open. Like most of his kind, he’d keep it hidden. Quietly, she knocked along the wooden walls. Each knock sounded thick and sturdy. She crossed over picture frames and wall accents until she reached a family portrait. She rapped her knuckles on the very center and heard an echo. Her heart raced as she felt along the edges and found the opening. Behind the portrait was the safe. He might only have extra money there. He may have nothing at all. In this day and age, Templars began using computers and other technology to protect their information. Still, one can never be so sure. In her bag, she took out a stethoscope and went to work. 

“I’m telling ya Gordy, there ain’t nobody here!” a voice echoed inside the nearby office. “The place is empty!”

Maelyn gasped, closed the portrait and ducked down beside the desk. 

“Just check it out! I thought I saw a shadow up there!”

A shadow? How? She’d covered all the cameras.

“You’re seein’ things! If somebody were, we’d see ‘em by…” the guard’s high voice suddenly stopped. “Gordy,” he said seriously, “Call the cops. I think we’ve been robbed.”

“Been robbed?” a voice said over a walkie talkie. “What do you mean? Somebody’s there?”

“I mean there’s this big ass hole in Mr. Washington’s office door! I’mma check it out.”

Maelyn’s heart began racing again. Pulling out a long bamboo stick from her coat, she slipped a small pink dart inside. She listened for the sounds of jingling keys and footsteps. It’d have to be a split-second move. Most Abstergo guards carried actual guns. She jumped when the lights suddenly turned on. In the window’s reflection she saw a heavy set man in a white and blue uniform. He looked about the room with his hand on a hand gun. 

“I know you’re in here,” he said, “There ain’t no way outta this office except through ya little hole in the door. Come on out nice and slow and we can-”

Maelyn took her chance. Standing up from her hiding spot, she blew a dart right into the guard’s neck. The man stumbled around in pain, clutching at the dart before his face fell still and he tumbled to the ground. She watched him a few moments while she reloaded her dart then moved to the safe. In a few twists and turns, the safe cracked open. Inside she found more documents and vanilla folders. She took them all and stuffed them in her bag. She’ll have a chance to look at them later; the elevator bell sounded in the main room. Several footsteps moved closer and closer to the door. They’d be on her at any moment. She emptied the safe: all the folders, all the papers and a small lock box in the back. She spotted one guard coming from the shadowy office right as she ejected the floppy disk. 

“Hey you! Stop right there!” a guard called out, raising a gun at her. 

Another pink dart shot across the room into his neck. Just as a group of Abstergo guards ran inside, she reached to her belt and retrieved a pair of small balls. She only had three darts left; certainly not enough for five guards. 

“Freeze!”

Maelyn smiled, “Okay.”

One spike to the floor and the room went up in smoke. No engaging. No killing. Gasping, coughing guards blocked her entrance; she can’t go back the way she came. She rushed to the window behind her and gave it a hard kick that shattered it. 

_“Let spirit of the eagle guide me”,_ she thought to herself, going right to the window sill. She looked down to the roads below and saw a large truck coming down the street. 

“There’s nowhere for you to-to-to go!” the woman gasped. “Put down the-the backpack!”

Stretching out her arms, she closed her eyes and jumped. Her body rolled mid-air; cold winds blew through the inside of her leather coat. The dump truck drove on through the streets, passing the buildings around it in the dead of night. She kept her eyes shut as she dived and rolled through the rushing air down the twenty-three story-building. She won’t hit the ground. She never did. Right as the truck reached a stop light, the driver never noticed a small figure fall right into the back of the truck. 

“Ugh!” Maelyn groaned, seeing the mounds of trash around her. The rancid smell of hot garbage filled her nose; something dug deep into her back through the bag. “Gross….” at least she wasn’t still inside. 

Sitting up, she saw the truck turn down fifth and main; two blocks from the Bureau. A sense of relief went through her in a sigh. She’d done it. She’d really done it. She steadied her breathing as she opened her backpack. Through the papers she found the box. A regular metal box, it didn’t seem very important. However, being in the hands of Templars, it must be. There didn’t appear to be a combination or even a keyhole. Washington must’ve thought nobody would get through his safe. He’d be severely punished for this blunder. Maelyn knew she should leave it alone. It might be something dangerous. However, she couldn’t resist popping the latches open. 

Her heart stopped. Her eyes widened as she stared down into the box. On several sheets of blue velvet laid a small golden sphere. A golden sphere covered in intricate lines. The Apple. She studied the tiny inscriptions going around the lines of the Apple of Eden. They’d found it. They’d hidden it. This can’t be the actual Apple. There’s no way the Templars would keep something so precious in a safe in their offices. The masters will know. As the dump truck made another stop, Maelyn stuffed the box back into her bag and climbed over the side. The driver never noticed her. 

****

“ _Dios mío_. Could it be? No. It mustn't. Maelyn, how did you come by this?”

Moments after her escape, Maelyn now stood in the meeting room in the Bureau. She’d immediately asked to see Master Hector, an elderly man with a dark beard and green eyes. One of the oldest assassins alive, Master Hector knew more about The Apples of Eden than most; he’d even seen some of them. If anyone can tell the real from the fake, it’ll be him. She stood at ease in front of his desk. In a dimly lit office decorated with Assassin artifacts and maps, only they spoke. 

“It was in Washington’s safe, Master,” she replied. “My father suggested I take a look in case he held any other information there. I didn’t think much of it until I opened it.”

He gave her a knowing smile, “Of course you’d look.” He held the Apple up to eye level, closely reading the words etched into the gold. “Yes. Yes, this is it. The inscriptions are written right into the gold instead of over it. It weighs lighter than it looks. Maelyn,” he looked at her, “Do you know what makes the Apples of Eden so special?”

“They’re created by Isu during The First Civilization Each one gives the holder supernatural abilities like mind-control, extensive knowledge and negates The Staves of Eden,” she said as if reciting from a book. “Which one is this one?”

“From the writings, it is the sixth one discovered by Ezio Auditore de Firenze, a nobleman from 16th century Italy. He hid it in the vault underneath the Basilica di Santa Maria in Aracoeli. The Templars must’ve broke in to claim it.” He nodded to the papers around him, “If they found any more, they may have recorded it.” He met her eyes again, “You’ve done well tonight, Maelyn, but I suspect this is not over. You’ve taken something important from them and they will not stop until they find it.”

“I’m not afraid,” she stood straighter, holding her head high. “Let them come. I’ll fight them.”

He chuckled, “Ah, the hubris of children.” He called forth a cloaked servant who took the box and left the room. “Go now. Rest. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, Master.”

She bowed and left the room. Outside she met a tall, broad man leaning against the wall. People told her she looked like him with her narrow nose, square jaw and black hair. Instant relief returned at the sight of him; she can finally rest. She beamed brightly as he embraced her. 

“Good job, honey,” her father said, hugging her tightly to him. “I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it.”

“It’s not like it was hard,” she shrugged. “It was in-and-out, remember?”

He laughed, releasing her, “It was. But many things can go wrong during an assignment. You must always-”

“-Be vigilant,” she rolled her eyes, “I know, Papa.” 

“Alright then,” he kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go grab some pizza, yeah? I think we both can use a night-in.”

“Master Garrard,” a man in a long black cloak opened the doors, “Master Hector would like a word in private.”

“Be right there.” He looked down at Maelyn, “Wait for me in the hall. I won’t be long.”

“‘Kay’,” she nodded.

He kissed her cheek and left into the study. For some reason, as she stood in the long hallway lit by gas lamps, a terrible feeling swirled up in her gut. 

****

King’s Dominion Atelier of the Deadly Arts. Maelyn heard of this school only twice in her life: when her parents talked about her general education and through a friend. Camila said King’s Dominion was a school for assassins, but not assassins of The Order. ‘Regular’ assassins who are guns-for-hire; “problem solvers” as her father pointed out. A lot of them come from affluent families, but he told her some are like her.

“Kids with no affiliations to criminal organizations,” her father said in the car. “They’re chosen perhaps due to other connections or their abilities. You’ll fit in just fine.” 

The pair of them drove down into Chinatown, where she saw several small stores lining the narrow streets. She didn’t understand. Only a day ago, she’d been praised for her efforts in her assignment. Now, they had sent her away. Why? To go to some dumb school? She’d learned more from The Order than anywhere else. The Brotherhood of Assassins is where she belonged. She belonged with the American Brotherhood, not a bunch of...thugs and criminals. She thought back to The Bureau: a secret place accessed through the control room of the Golden Gate Bridge. She already missed the crisp air inside; the portraits of famous Assassins throughout history on the walls. She longed to be in the library where she’d read about their history and artifacts. This new school will have nothing for her. Maelyn crossed her arms, slumping into her seat. Her father noticed this.

“It won’t be so bad,” he reassured her. “Master Lin is a good friend of mine and of The Order. His family has run the school for decades; a few of his students have gone on to join our Order.”

“I thought only a special few can join. You know, people with Eagle Sight.”

“You’ll be surprised how many people don’t know they have Assassin’s blood,” he said. They parked outside a butchery where chunks of meat and pig parts hung on display. He faced her, “Listen, you will be safer here in the school than anywhere else.”

“Even The Bureau?”

“Even there. The Templars can uncover it at any time, especially now. King’s Dominion is secure and unknown to them. Master Lin’s family has kept it that way for a long time.”

“So it’s like a safehouse then?”

“Precisely. You’ll be safe and be getting a decent education in the ‘deadly arts’, as Lin calls them. Now come on, we can’t keep him waiting all night.” 

The two Dorians climbed out of the car and walked into the butchery. It smelled of meat, blood and something that wrinkled her nose. Stern faces looked at her from behind counters, but she pretended not to notice. She didn’t like the sound of this school. If the Knights Templar can discover secret safe houses around the world, they can surely find a high school. But her father said it was safe and she trusted him. She shouldered her bag when they reached a counter. Her father said nothing to the small, bald man; he simply pulled out the chain from around his neck and the portly man nodded to the back. 

“This way,” her father led her towards a workshop behind plastic curtains. 

“So how do we get in?” she asked him. 

“You’ll see.”

“What did you show him?”

He pulled it out again. Made of silver, the Assassins symbol hung from a thin chain. Resembling the bottom of the eagle’s skull, it was a V-shape with a curve underneath. “They all know what it means,” he said, tucking it back under his shirt. 

“When will I get one?”

He smiled, “When you’re inducted into the Order. Don’t be so hasty, sweetheart. You still have much to learn.” He then muttered in French, “The pride of children.”

Suddenly a panel in the wall opened up and a cloaked monk stepped out, gesturing for them to enter. Her father bowed, urging her to do the same, and they walked through. The narrow passage turned down to a flight of stairs; the air around them getting colder. They must be going underground. Is the school underground? But then they went up again, reaching a small antechamber leading outside. 

“Papa?”

The monk led them outside into a small courtyard where she saw it. Four stories high, the school reminded her of a castle with high rooftops and large wooden doors. She saw another building off the side of it, where she assumed she’d be staying. Her stomach churned again looking up at the tall trees. How can a place like this remain hidden? 

“Welcome, Maelyn, to King’s Dominion.”


	2. Words on the Wall

He felt like shit. His head pounded, his body weighed a ton and he forced his eyes to stay open. He’d spent the night tossing and turning in his cot. He’d refused to close his eyes. When he did he saw Rory's face. It'd gone on that way the whole night. No amount of moonshine or weed kept the visions at bay. Marcus steeled himself against the day and headed for class. He'd kill someone for a hit right then. He thought about asking The Hessians, but they'd probably overcharge him because he's a Rat and a “psycho mass murderer”. He could always skip class to venture out, but he knew he’d get caught straight away. But nobody else will sell to him if they had anyways. 

A lot of people in King’s Dominion didn’t like him. A few stuck out in his mind right away when he thought about it. The school was a cage full of raging psychopaths and soon-to-be serial killers. Mob bosses, Klansmen, CIA, KGB, Yakuzas in training walked up and down the halls, sitting beside him learning about poisons, the “deadly arts”, and various combat skills. He supposed he should be grateful. If it weren’t for Master Lin, he’d be sleeping on a park bench right now and eating out of the trash. He might have to fight for survival amongst the crowd, but it beat the streets. 

“Marcus,” Billy, a scrawny boy with a green mohawk, leaned against the locker beside his, “You look like boiled asshole.”

“Didn't sleep a lot last night.” He stuffed his textbook into his locker and pulled out his Poison Lab book. “You got any weed?”

“Nope. School is dry, my friend. I even asked the Hessians and they're out.”

“Want to have a spliff? So early in the morning?” Lex, a young man with spiky blond hair came to his other side. 

“Marcus just likes drugs, Lex,” Billy defended. “I like them too. Drugs are fun. Nobody ever tells you that.” 

“Whatever,” Marcus muttered. “I just wanna get through today.”

He'd have to face the day dry. People like Billy, Lex and him were Rats. People with no proper connections to the government or criminal underworld. Marcus personally avoided it if he could help it. He already had a million things going on; his reputation as a ‘mass killer’ already put a target on his back. If it wasn’t Chico glaring at him from afar, it was Viktor calling him a ‘fag boy’ in his deep Russian accent (which somehow made it worse). If Brandy didn’t throw various racial slurs, the Kuroki Syndicate kids threw ninja stars at him. All these gangs. All these factions. The class system King’s created ran too deeply in its veins to revive whatever it once upheld. The hypocrisy laid out in the open. Lin wanted to train assassins, but he was only equipping the powerful with more power. He wasn’t creating “problem solvers”. These people won’t “burn down the world”. They’d take what they learned and use it for self-interest. That’s all people cared for: their own self-interests. Thankfully, he’d managed to survive this long even with his lack of skills. Then he saw him again. 

The world turned a bright shade of red and he stood not too far away. Ragged, hairy, and rotten-toothed, Rory cackled at him meanicingly. The sort of laugh he’d give whenever he beat him to the ground. The kind of laugh that knotted his insides. Rory beat women, stole, lied, and even killed. Nobody said anything out of fear they’d be next; police didn't care about dead homeless people. Only last night, Marcus ended it. He shivered thinking of the way Rory’s head caved inwards, his brains making a bloody stew in his skull. Blank eyes stared right into the damp alley; Marcus recalled his body instantly turning uncomfortably stiff in death. He'd nearly gagged at the smell of burning flesh. Wille helped him. Well, Willie watched. The large dark-skinned boy stood aside, frightened and panting, as Marcus slammed a pipe into Rory's head. He shut his locker, and looked away. 

The three of them headed towards Poison Lab. Professor Denke may be the only teacher in King’s he liked so far. The grey haired, bespectacled professor encouraged him to stay; to find a purpose. Purpose is hard to find in a sea of aimless hostility. Walking into the chemistry lab, Billy and him took seats behind Petra, a girl wearing black makeup and hair. She gave them a small nod when they took their seats. Professor Denke stood in front of the class at his table, which was cluttered with beakers, bottles, and ingredients. As he took out his textbook, a flowery scent wafted by him. He glanced upwards to see a girl stride to the professor’s desk. He read the slip she handed him, looked between the paper and her and then nodded. 

“Class,” he called their attention as the students settled down, “Today we’re graced with another new student. This is Maelyn Dorian.”

Small and mousey, he didn’t imagine her being a threat. In fact, she looked more like prey than predator. She kept her mouse brown hair in a pink ribbon, her uniform pressed and neat and clutched onto her textbooks. He glanced around the class: some boys smirked at the sight of her and a few girls too. He supposed she was pretty. She kept a nervous smile standing before the class. How could a person so sweet looking be in a school for assassins? Then again, look are deceiving. Denke nodded at her, gesturing the empty seat at Petra’s table. The pair couldn’t look any odder: stark black beside bright pink. 

“Guess you’ve been dethroned as New Kid,” Billy joked in a whisper. 

She smelled nice. The flowery scent came back to him in faint wisps; he inhaled them deeply. Enchanting and intoxicating. From the looks of his male peers continued leering, the deadliest thing in this room is her. Denke began the lesson about the various levels of poisoning someone. He jotted down the notes without really understanding them. As much as he enjoyed Denke, the science failed him. Did he have to suck at everything? Why did Maelyn’s perfume have to be so distracting? He glimpsed at Petra, who seemed unaffected. 

“I like your makeup,” he heard her tell Petra once ingredients came down the lines. They’d be making something Denke called ‘Wisps of Fire’. It apparently burns the drinker’s insides until they begin foaming at the mouth. By her bemusement, Petra didn’t know whether she was kidding or not. “It really brings out your eyes.” 

“Thanks.” 

He looked at the equipment before him: a glass beaker, several chemicals in small vials, and a measuring cup. Confusion continued going over him, so he turned to his notes. 

“Where you from?” Maelyn persisted in the conversation. 

“Here.”

“That’s cool. I’m from Chicago, but my parents are French.”

Petra said nothing. He wished for a split second they could trade places. Then he realized talking to the new girl might put an even bigger, more envy-driven target on him. He needed to mix the blue stuff with the green stuff. No wait, the blue and the purple. The purple is...something that activates it, right? 

“Can you pass me the venom?” she asked Petra.

“You only need a drop.”

“Two is better,” she replied. “One will barely do any damage. Two makes the acid more potent. So, please?”

Smart too. He watched her take the clear bottle and use the dropper. He copied her, dropping the venom into the water. It stayed colorless as Denke said. Though she kept her head straight, Marcus knew Petra watched her. Denke did as well. Maelyn didn’t appear to notice. All around him, students got the poison wrong. Billy’s turned a hideous green color and smelled of rotting eggs. Behind him, Lex was forced to dump his lumpy purple concoction. Petra, despite being the most adept at poisons, found some difficulty. Maelyn noticed her grumbling as she stirred a cloudy liquid in her beaker. 

“Boil it,” she said, “It’ll evaporate some of the water.”

“I put plenty of water, thanks.”

“By the measurement you put too much.” Fed up with Petra’s stubbornness, the girl reached over and raised the temperature of the butsenburner. The liquid soon began boiling, and the excess water started steaming upwards. “See?” she pointed to the beaker, “The color is fading.” Maelyn saw the distaste on Petra’s face, then quickly pulled away. “Sorry. I can’t help it sometimes. Poisons are kinda my thing.” 

Petra’s face softened and looked at her book, “It’s okay. I’m just used to being the only one who knows what they’re doing. Thanks.” 

Maelyn’s smile lit up her face. He tried ignoring it. He had enough problems. He won’t let another pretty girl add to it. Suddenly, the world went red again and his heart jumped into his throat. If he ignored Rory, he’d go away. Ignore him and he'll go away. He'll go away. He'll go away. Marcus felt the dead eyes on him again. Ignore him.

By the end of class, Denke examined everyone's final results. Only Petra and Maelyn got perfect scores. When the bell rang, the students grabbed their things and filed out of the room. He’d gotten a failing grade as expected. He sucked at everything; as if he needed reminding every time he looked at his paper. 

“What do you think’s for lunch?” Billy asked. “I’m fucking starving.”

“I think I know what I want,” Lex grinned. Maelyn and Petra walked ahead of them continuing to talk about the assignment. “Sweet thing, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Too sweet. 

His stomach churned when he realized what hall they’d turned into. The usual class bulletin board at the entrance, they’d be going by The Door. He normally took another route to the mess hall to avoid it. Goosebumps went up his arms under his sleeves. Between groups of lockers was a fire alarm encased behind glass. It seemed an odd place to have it, but nobody questioned it. Just like have nobody questioned the words. _‘Nihil est verum. Omne quod licet.’_ Whatever they meant escaped him. He thought it might be latin or some other old language, but he had nobody to ask. They glowed an luminous light blue color on the dark wood. A sort of triangle curved at the bottom shone above them. He’d never seen it in his life, but it felt familiar. Reading the words brought on a strange comfort; as if their light warmed him. The door itself had no visible keyhole or handle. It looked like a regular panel in the wall. People walked right by it without noticing the letters. 

“What’s up with the door?” he asked the two. 

“What door?” Billy looked to the door, confused and staring. “That’s a wall, Marcus. You know, the things that kept buildings standing up?” he grinned teasingly. 

“No, it’s a door. There’s words on it.” He saw their confused faces, “You don’t see it?” 

“Mate, there’s nothing there,” Lex said, gesturing to the fire alarm, “Just the alarm. You should lay off the morning toke. Going a bit funny in the head now.” 

He said nothing, letting the pair guide him away. Is he really losing his mind? He turned to see the words still there. _Nihil est verum. Omne quod licet._ If he wasn't seeing Rory laughing at him, he saw stuff written on walls. He needed a smoke. But the school is dry. No alcohol. No drugs. He’d gone down to his last cigarette. His body craved something stronger. _Nihil est verum. Omne quod licet._ The the FUCK does that even mean?

He got into the line, the straight faced cooks plating his food for him. Meatloaf-at least it looked like it-potatoes, bread rolls and peas. The standard type of food the rich were accustomed to. Only the best for King’s elite. He ended up beside her. Her scent got lost inside the food and steam of the lunch line. He should say something to her. 

“So, you’re from Chicago, huh?” Lord, he sounded dumb. He picked up a milk carton from the small cooler. 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Illinois. Some stuff happened and I got stuck coming here.” 

“Why here?” he asked. “No offense but you don’t seem like King's material. You'd fit better in one of those fancy private schools where everyone plays golf and drinks highballs.”

Her giggle made his stomach flop. “My dad thought it’d be good place for me. He’s a cleaner.”

“A cleaner?” 

“Takes care of people’s problems,” she winked. “You know, hooker dies in a rock star’s apartment, he’s hired to get rid of the body. If someone is blackmailing government officials, he’s hired to find them and...talk to them.” They reached the end of the line when she asked, “What about you?”

“You haven't heard of him?” Billy interjected. “Marcus here did the Boys Home Massacre.”

She stopped, “The fire that killed all those kids?”

“Yeah,” Marcus breathed. He wished he could tell her the truth. “That's me.”

The look she gave him only worsened his day. “That's…”

“Awful? Horrible? Unforgivable?” Marcus threw in when they got to the table.

“I was going to say traumatizing.”

She pitied him. He saw it in her stare; she looked at him like he was a lost puppy. He wanted to hide from them. They were brown, her eyes. Dark swirls that mixed her natural sweetness. He instantly felt guilty over something he’d never done. _I didn’t kill those kids._ He wanted to tell her. _I only killed one and he deserved it._ But would she understand? No, she wouldn’t. “Are you sorry?” she asked. 

“For some of it.”

He noticed the others listening. He'd never spoken about it and he wouldn't start now. Not when Rory reappeared right behind her, silently staring him down. His breath hitched in his throat; his grip tightened on his fork. Not here. Not now. Not in front of her. _Nihil est verum. Omne quod licet._ He shook the man away and met her eyes again. 

“So, your old man wants you to follow in his footsteps?” he asked, changing subjects. He forked some potatoes and meatloaf into his mouth. 

“He does,” she nodded. She'd noticed because the pity stayed. “He thinks I'd be good at it.”

“Then he's the only one,” Billy said. “Sorry, but you look more girl scout than future disruptor of America.”

She sighed, chewing food. “I know,” she said wearily. “He thinks I can be this super assassin; he said King's will shape me into one.”

“It has to,” he looked over his plate. “Otherwise you'll drown.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kindness is weakness around here,” Petra explained. “It's safer to be a bitch to everyone. Especially for a Rat.”

“That's a bit harsh.”

“That's what we're called,” Marcus cut in. “Us kids with no ties to the government or the mafia. First generation kids. Unless your dad is…?”

“He works freelance jobs,” she said. “He has regular clients, but he’s not in a gang or anything.” 

“Then there you go,” he said, sipping his milk. 

“You’d do well with the Preps,” Petra nodded to a group of well-dressed kids nearby. “CIA, FBI, KGB,” she listed, “They’d love to have someone whose dad will work for the right price.”

“And who has such a pretty face,” Lex smiled, eyeing her up and down. Marcus wanted to fling his fork at him once he saw her shift uncomfortably. 

“If the Dixie Mob,” Billy pointed to a group of blonds at a table, “Doesn’t hire him first. But, white nationalists and bigots tend to hire their own kind. You know, don’t wanna go mixing the waters.” 

“I don’t want to be in either of those groups,” she said disgusted. “One of those Prep kids knocked down my books when I accidentally bumped into her. And that blond girl over there called me a ‘frogeater’ and spat on my shoes.”

Already the wolves snapped their jaws. It was his turn to pity her. “You’ll get used to it,” he comforted her, eating more mashed potatoes. “Just stick with us and you’ll be okay.”

“We’ll protect you from all the meanies in this school,” said Lex, “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, alright love?” 

“Yeah,” Petra agreed, “The best years of your life will pass by in a flash.”

She smiled and bit into a bread roll. As he moved to ask another question, someone took a seat next to him. “Hey hey Marcus,” portly, black haired with glasses, Shabnam had a habit of getting under people’s skin. Marcus tolerated him...he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he felt sorry for him? Shabnam got bullied, and Marcus stupidly helped him. 

“Hey Shab.”

Shabnam reacted to Maelyn the way any normal guy did: he suddenly smoothed out his hair and grinned. “Hey there,” he said to her, “I’m-I’m Shabnam.”

“Maelyn,” she shook his hand. 

“You must be new,” he said, “I never forget a face.”

She laughed politely, “Yeah, I am.”

Shabnam had better game than him. “Well, I hope you’re in Criminal Accounting. It’s a great subject and we can use more people.”

“I am actually,” she answered. Criminal Accounting? He’d tolerate math and numbers for a moment with her. “How’s the teacher?”

“Dawson is fair,” he replied. 

Shabnam continued droning about the class, telling her about the teacher and the workload. Marcus thought of interjecting. How did she do it? Get on so well with others? He’d made friends by chance. He’d made friends by sticking his neck out for strangers. He shouldn’t have helped Willie. He should’ve let him get chased down and stabbed by Rory, but no. He let his heart sit on his sleeve. 

“Is there a reason you’re here, Shabnam?” Marcus cut in quickly. 

“Oh!” as if he suddenly noticed Marcus, “Yeah. My parents are gonna be out of town tonight so the crew and I thought about a little get together. You know, firing up the Commodore 64, play some games, maybe have a cheese platter.” A night with the Goop Patrol was not Marcus’s idea of fun. “My dad probably left some booze behind,” Shabnam added quickly, “If we wanna get a little crazy.” He looked to Maelyn, “You can come too if you want Maelyn. I promise it’ll be tons of fun. It’d be great way to start getting in with the crew. You know, making connections and stuff.” 

“Sounds like fun,” Maelyn said, spooning some peas. Marcus didn’t like how she smiled at Shabnam. 

“We’re in,” Marcus said despite Billy’s sudden gag and Petra’s glare. 

“What?”

“School’s dry, something is better than nothing,” Marcus told him. “I think we could all use a little kick back, no?”

“Exactly, but my dad was clear,” Shabnam said, “Just a few friends.”

This would be the perfect way to get that smoke. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep it small.”

And he’d get to see Maelyn again.


	3. Verbal Foreplay

She needed to keep a ‘low profile’. Her father instructed she be ‘non-threatening’. If she kept her head down and focused on her studies, she’d be safe. It took a bit of persistence, but Maelyn eventually learned why they casted her out in the first place. 

“The guard you knocked out identified you,” he’d told her, arms crossed over his broad chest. “A few of the others did also. You didn’t pull your bandana back up when you stopped shooting. The Templars will be after you. The safest thing for you right now is to stay at school until this is all over.”

Both Master Lin and her father said the weaker she appeared, the more likely she’d be ignored. Yes, she may endure a stint of bullying but that’d be mostly due to her status than her abilities. Legacies loved picking on the Rats, which she learned quickly enough on her first day. She wanted to hit the girl who knocked her books down and kick the one who’d spat on her. If only they knew the truth. She had more legacy in her little finger than they did in their entire bodies. Still, she went throughout her classes, smiling and being friendly. It sickened her. Maelyn, future member of the Assassin Brotherhood, now must pretend to be weak. When she asked about Hand-to-Hand Combat classes, Master Lin covered it up. Nobody will ask, but if they do she must say they’d enrolled her in the beginner’s class. A class for babies. A class for weaklings. Maelyn growled to herself. They insisted that any one of her classmates may have Templar connections. If she gave herself away through her skills, they’d unmask her. 

“What about my actual training?” she then asked them. “I want to keep working and improving. I can’t do that if I’m stuck pretending to be a helpless, defenseless baby.” 

“There’s a secret room for Assassins,” Master Lin responded. “Your father tells me you’re very proficient in your Order’s history. We’ll start our first lesson now. Tell me, who was the first Assassin immigrant? Not a pilgrim or soldier. A plain immigrant.”

She thought for a moment, then said, “Seamus O’Leary, an Irishman. He came to escape persecution from Templars and government alike. He ended up joining the Civil War on the Union side.”

“Precisely. In that time before his enlistment,” he said, “Seamus spent a good amount of time around my great-great grandfather,” he pointed his cane to a photo on the wall. “A man coming to America in search of a better life, but only receiving abuse and indentured servitude instead. In his life on the farm, he and Seamus crossed paths. Your ancestor saw the cruelty my grandfather and his people received. Being Assassins, your honor bound to help the weak and protect the defenseless. My grandfather trained himself to kill with Seamus’s guidance.”

“He was part of The Order?”

“No, he didn’t join. However, in the purpose of revenge, he founded this school. He dedicated his life to the self-liberation of the oppressed, much like Seamus and himself. Their friendship lasted throughout the years,” he pointed to another picture. In it stood two men side by side, arms over one another’s shoulders. “Seamus went on into war, but my grandfather promised him he’d always have a home here at King’s. This went on to include any other travelling Assassins in need. Seamus, in this case, created a special training room in our school so future Assassins may hone their talents. I think you’ll find the markings well enough. You’re free to use it during your combat class and after school.”

“And you’re to tell nobody it’s there,” her father enforced. 

“Obviously,” she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady,” he said. “This is serious. You can be killed if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll have my blade with me though.” She then noticed their silence, “Right? I-I get to keep that at least, right?.” 

“I’m sorry, Maelyn, but no,” Master Lin frowned. “It’ll raise lots of questions and I can’t risk any accidents.”

“Especially with your impulsiveness.”

Walking through the school now, she felt naked. No weapons. No armor. Nothing but a stupid uniform and hair ribbon. Master Lin said he’d informed a few of his staff members: particularly the Combat instructor and her Poison Lab professor. Her father mentioned Denke being an old friend, and to behave in his class. Not that she saw any reason to misbehave. Considering her classmates, acting out is the last thing she’d do. She’d eventually found her people: The Rat Pack. She’d been surprised by Petra’s kindness, since she didn’t seem like the friendly type. However bored she sounded, she’d explained the rules of King’s Dominion. A dog eat dog world. Everyone only looking out for themselves. Some separated themselves due to race; sticking ‘their own people’. She understood they all came from the same gangs, the same areas. But the class system went against everything Master Lin and his ancestors taught. These kids won’t become assassins who will “change the world with a bullet”. They’ll only use it to maintain their power and reputations. It’ll keep them alive longer. She wished she could return to the Bureau where she needn't hide. 

The lying suddenly felt worse when she met Marcus. She saw right away how tortured he was: shaking hands, staring off into the distance, and looking over his shoulder. He’d killed more than a dozen children in that fire. She’d heard some burned alive. Maelyn pitied and prayed for the souls of those children, but she mostly examined Marcus. Billy’s father was a low-ranking police officer with mafia ties. Lex’s father ran a gang back in London, and Petra’s family led a death cult. Marcus had no real ties to anyone; an orphan who’d grown up in a boys’ home. How horrible, she wondered, had it been that he resorted to murder. He honestly did not seem the type. Then Shabnam came, asking for a get together. Marcus’s mischievous, charming smile did not bode well. She knew-despite never having gone to a party-that it’ll be much more than ‘just a few friends’. She’d have told Shabnam in Criminal Accounting if she’d not needed friends. 

“Friends offer protection and survival here,” Master Lin had told her. “The Rat Pack are decent kids who look out for one another. You will be protected by them.”

She doubted it. Billy and Lex are too scrawny and Petra resorted to violence only when necessary. Marcus, like always, she knew nothing about. The lack of information Petra gave didn’t help either. 

She’d taken Maelyn to a place they called The Graveyard. Situated on the school rooftop, only Rats hung out there regularly. The smoke from the chimneys filtered through the air; she sat on a roof window and read graffiti written by students long gone. They’d created a nice set up with a barrel for bonfires, a worn out couch and chairs for sitting. It brought a sense of peace to their miserable lives. 

“He’d been living on the streets before coming here,” Petra told her from a roof window overlooking inside the building. Smoking a cigarette, she continued, “You know, being on the run from the cops and having no family?”

“So, he’s got nobody and no one knows anything about him?”

“Pretty much. I know he wants to assassinate Ronald Reagan.”

She snorted, “The president?”

“Yeah. Says he ruined his life, so he wants revenge. I guess that’s as good as any other reason.”

She knew how he felt. She thought of Montoya and what he’d done to her mother. Her parents had gone an assignment to kill the former Grandmaster, but were ambushed. The Templars learned about the attempt through a traitor in The Order. Her father escaped, but they’d captured her mother. The Order spent weeks looking for her before they’d found her lying in a ditch outside of town. They’d experimented on her. She showed signs of it in the injections on her neck and wrists. Maelyn recalled how broken her body looked in the casket. The coroner made her presentable, but Maelyn still saw it. Master Hector said the Templars tried finding a Piece of Eden through her genetic memories. She’d been too young to understand then. All she understood was she’d never see her mother again. She’d never feel her warm embrace, smell her perfume or hear the softness in her voice. The light that filled her house suddenly disappeared. Nobody to train her. Nobody to mentor her but her father. Sergio Montoya took away one of the biggest parts of her. She’d kill him. 

She made a decision: She’d be careful around Marcus from now on. At least, until she knew more about him. 

“You planning on going to the party?” Petra asked, offering her a cigarette, though she declined. 

“I’m the new kid. I have to go,” she answered. “I’d look like a complete spazz if I didn’t. Are you?”

“I guess I’ll make an appearance. I usually stay away from all that lame shit, but the school’s dry. There’s gonna be plenty of booze floating around, I know that.”

“Why is that so important?” she asked. “Doing drugs and drinking? It just makes your brain fuzzy and you get sick afterwards. I mean, Marcus wants it so bad he’s using another person to get it. He doesn’t honestly like Shabnam.” It was a terrible thing to do. She’d heard how awful house parties went: people wrecking the place, getting drunk and puking, and having sex in beds that aren’t theirs. Shabnam seemed so sweet. Maybe she should watch out for Marcus. 

“It gives us an escape,” Petra took a drag from her cigarette. “It makes us forget who we are for a while. It’s like...your whole body goes numb and you don’t feel anything. You don’t feel pain or sadness. You’re just there, you know?”

“Alcohol fuels depression. It’s a depressor. Weed isn’t much better.”

She chuckled, “You sound like an anti-drug ad.” 

“I’m not anti-drugs. I just think there’s better ways to have fun, that’s all.” 

“You probably just haven’t done them yet!” Billy appeared with Lex and Marcus behind him. Maelyn straightened up at the sight of him. Holding a skateboard, Billy set himself up atop a curve, ready to roll down it, “Once you do, you’ll soon discover the magic of the ultimate high.”

“A little beer doesn’t hurt neither,” Lex added, pulling out his own cigarette and lighting it. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll walk you through it.”

“No you won’t,” Petra immediately said, flicking his ear. “Creep.” 

“Well, it’s not like I’d know anyone there except you guys.” Friends mean survival. If these are the cards she’d been dealt, she’d work with them. “They’re not my thing, I suppose.”

“They will when you try them,” Marcus said. She eyed him in his chair across from her. She supposed he was good looking: curly brown hair hung above his brow, his jawline went on for days, and his eyes. A gorgeous chocolate brown, they sent out this intensity and deepness inside him. She saw his pain on full display; pain from a lifetime of hurt. She noticed the red stitches across the bridge of his nose. 

“How’d you get that?” she asked him. 

He lit up his own cigarette, “A fight. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“A fight with Chico of all people,” Lex blew a puff of smoke that made Maelyn gag and cough. 

“Chico?”

“He leads the Soto Vatos,” Petra answered. “Mexican cartel. They’re the toughest crew on campus. He’s done some crazy stuff to people.”

“Marcus was lucky enough to get away with just a broken nose,” Billy said as he skated past them to another makeshift half-pipe. 

So he started fights? Or at least got into them? She noted the scar cutting through his eyebrow and down to his cheekbone, skipping over his eye. By the thinness, she suspected a straight razor. “Why’d you fight him? Did he take something from you?”

He stared at her, confused for a second. He took another hit from his cigarette, then said, “Nah, he’d given his girlfriend a black eye and I’d decided to do something about it. I hate bullies.”

“You’re gonna hear him say that a lot,” Lex muttered to her. “Just full on warning you.”

“I just don’t like the strong beating down on the weak,” he continued. “These self-centered, egotistical douchebags who abuse their power to hurt other people. The kind of people who make other people’s existence shitty and don’t care.”

“People who enslave and abuse others,” Maelyn finished for him, crossing her arms. “People who take and take and take and never give anything back, right? You hate people who hurt others but proclaim it’s the ‘will of god’ or ‘in the name of law and order’, when really it’s to strengthen their own power? Much like the assholes who go to this school; they’re only out for themselves, which defeats the purpose of this place at all.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Yeah, exactly.”

“Oh great,” Petra said in a bored tone, “Another ‘deep intellectual’.”

“It’s not about being deep,” she said before he could. “Everything is permitted. Men are restrained by their laws and their morality. If they really wanted to change the world, they’d do it.”

“But they won’t because they’re afraid,” Marcus said, leaning forward in his chair. “These powerful corporate government official assholes scare them. They put them at a disadvantage so they’ll never rise up through the glass ceiling and become powerful like them.”

“The rich stay rich and the poor stay poor.” 

“You two wanna be left alone?” Lex asked, looking between them. “So you can enjoy your verbal foreplay?”

Maelyn’s cheeks grew hot, “Only a discussion. That’s all.”

“Well, I think a bullet in the box is what all these bastards need,” Lex chimed in. “Corporate overlords? Bang. Bankers? Bang. Oil Tycoons? Bang. Changing the world with a bullet, you know?”

“Changing the world is bullshit,” Maelyn said. “You have to have real balls to actually do something like that.”

He smirked, leaning against the chimney next to her, “Would you like to see if I do?”

She looked right back at him, “I don’t think you’d like the way I’d found out.” 

“Lex stop being a creep,” Petra scoffed, flicking her cigarette butt at him. 

“Even if you did do that,” she continued, “You’re only taking out the underlings; people like you who are controlled by those above them. You see, it’s like a ladder. People like you and me are at the very bottom. Middle class-office workers, lawyers, etcetera-are somewhere in the middle. Rich people like CEOs or stock brokers are somewhere a little higher, but the elite are on top. The dipshits that go here? That have all those connections? They answer to someone too. We all answer to someone because that’s how the ladder works. If you really wanted to change the world, you’d have to climb the ladder.”

“And? So what?”

“You’d be killing people no more powerful than you,” Marcus answered for her. “You’d be making absolutely no change if you did. The people you gotta get to are the people at the top of the ladder,” he looked at her, “Do you plan on going up that ladder?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Then sweetheart, tell us,” Lex said, getting slightly agitated. “Whose head do you wanna blow off?”

There’d be no use in lying. It’s not like they’d know him. “Sergio Montoya.”

“Who the hell is Sergio Montoya?” Petra looked at her confused. 

“He’s the CEO of Abstergo Industries.” Also a Templar Grandmaster if rumors are true. “He’s a corporate guy but he’s much higher up the ranks than he looks. He’s got his hands in all kinds of pockets: government, financial, even criminal. He owns all kinds of factories and industries that are basically sweatshops for people who need to make a living. He even works with the criminal underworld; a lot of gangs answer to him and do his dirty work. He has ears everywhere; his influence stretches farther and higher than anyone else. Nothing happens in this city without him knowing about it.”

“How do you know that?” Marcus asked. 

“I looked into him.”

“Why?”

“Because he took away someone I loved,” she said stiffly. Her heart slowly tore itself open inside her. It became a physical pain. Her mother deserved a better story than what she’d been given. “He fired my mom after she’d worked for Abstergo for thirty years. It put us in a bad place for a while because my dad wasn’t living with us. They’d gotten divorced,” she added quickly. Her mother worked hard. She’d spend days training when at home. She’d tell her the only way to improve is to challenge yourself. It escaped her how she’d gotten caught. “My mom killed herself. She’d started drinking a lot. She’d be in her bed for days, barely eating and mostly sleeping.” She gripped the sides of her skirt, scratching the material. She thought about her mother’s wide smile; how it generated this contagious cheerfulness. Her mother’s smile meant everything was okay. “It’s his fault. It’s his fault and I’m going to make him pay for it.” 

“Good luck with that then,” Lex said, but she barely heard him. 

She kept her eyes on Marcus, who stared back. He’d watched her while she’d talked; she felt him examining her. She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or worried. “What about you?” she left Lex and Petra, taking up an extra chair beside him, “Petra says you wanna kill Reagan.”

“He ruined my life. My parents died because he cut funding to mental hospitals. They had to release hundreds of patients, which included a suicidal schizophrenic. She’d jumped off a bridge while my parents walked right underneath her.”

“She crushed them.”

“Landed right on top of them.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“And I’m sorry for yours.” 

“I only lost one. You lost both, which is way worse. You went to a boys home then?”

“Yep.” 

“You didn’t have any family to take you in?”

“They all lived in Nicaragua where I grew up, and they didn’t want to send me back. I sometimes wish they had.” He smoked his cigarette, letting a silence grow between them for a while. 

“How long were you there?”

“Until I was five. My dad caught up with some bad people and we had to leave. You? Did you get mixed up in some bad shit?” 

“When my mom died, I went to live in France with my dad for a while. My dad works a lot, you know, being a hitman and all.” She played with the end of her skirt, “He didn’t have much time for me, so he sent me back here. I think he just wanted me out of the way to be honest.” Her father will never want her ‘out of the way’. Her mother wouldn’t let him even if he did. 

“Then you might as well be an orphan too.” 

She watched him a bit longer. Templars normally came up with less shocking stories, if they came after anyone personally. They rarely went themselves; always paid someone else. Maybe they’d paid Marcus? He had lived on the streets. He’d be the perfect candidate. But, he’d been here longer if only by a few days. There’s no way they’d know she’d be going to King’s. Unless they’d been betrayed again. 

“How’d you end up here at King’s? Weren’t you homeless?” she then asked, watching him take a puff of his cigarette. 

“Master Lin found me. He heard about what I did and thought I’d be good for King’s.”

“I bet it’s not so different though.”

“No, but it’s beats being on the streets, sleeping in my own piss and eating out of the garbage.”

She imagined him in such a position. He’d probably lived in a little shanty town, trying to dodge pedophiles looking for a quick fuck or people looking to steal from him. He mostly likely had scars to prove it. “You’re a survivor. You’d made it out there in the real world; you’ll make it in here.” Add some flavor. “Unlike me,” she frowned, “Who cuts her finger on a butterknife.”

He laughed softly, “A butterknife?”

“It was a sharp one, okay?” 

They laughed for a moment, then he said, “You’re at least better at poison 101 than me. I’m shit at everything.”

A Templar lap dog would say that. “You’ve only been here-what?-a week? You’ll get better.” 

He looked at her again, cigarette hanging in his mouth. “You’re too nice for this place.”

“Says the guy that hates bullies and is in a school full of them.” 

He hid his grin with his cigarette, “Are you going to Shabnam’s tonight?”

“Yeah.” 

He coughed, clearing his voice, “You wanna, like, go with me or whatever?”

Perfect. She could watch him closer. “Yeah. That’d be cool.” 

She can’t rule him out yet, but her instincts told her Marcus is innocent. Well, mostly.


	4. The Grey

A wonder. A wonder that intrigued him. Most people simply tolerated his rants about society’s hypocrisy and unfairness. She’d indulged him; bounced off his ideas like a tennis match. Her words and the way she'd said struck him. She too saw the world for what it really was and hated it. But, she did more than hate it; she wanted to do something about it. She wanted to kill the person who’d taken someone from her. She’d clearly learned a lot about him; he believed her when she said she’d kill him one day. Walking beside her up to Shabnam’s house, he felt stumped on what to say. He should say something suave and cool that gets her attention. But whenever he looked to her, the words bunched up in his throat. She looked heavenly. Her pink and blue midriff hung from one shoulder, teasing him with her stomach and waistline. The mini skirt didn’t help either; he nearly drooled over her soft thighs and legs. His hormones went into overdrive thinking of being between them. 

“Wow,” she said as they reached the house, “That’s a lot of people.”

The entire school came. People hung outside on the lawn drinking beer, while the skater kids rode around on their boards. Drinks flowed around freely while he got hints of cigarettes or weed in the air. The music blasted from a brand new stereo system that they’d connected to two large speakers. He felt the energy in the room filling him up as he and Maelyn followed Billy through the house in search of his first drink. The day wore on him. Rory wore on him. Even the damned door preyed on his thoughts throughout the day. He planned to destroy the visions of what he’d done. He still recalled the pain in his arms from the bashing; the way his biceps burned and shoulders ached. The exact moment where pipe met skull came back to him in a horrible blur. He’d get rid of it tonight. They walked passed a small room of people dancing into the kitchen and through into a lounge area. Lex, as per usual, annoyed any person he could find before turning around to see them. He handed them their first beers of the night, and Marcus didn’t wait to drink. 

Maelyn popped open hers, but didn’t drink immediately. She held it tentatively as if it might bite her. The three watched her give it a sniff, wrinkle her nose before Lex said, “Come on and drink it. One isn’t gonna hurt.”

Cracking under the need to fit in and the pressure of her new pals, Maelyn took a gulp. Billy and Lex cheered, but he only grinned. He saw her hide a gag from the bitter taste, and couldn’t help awe at her. She forced herself to keep drinking regardless of taste. Not that anyone drank beer for the taste. While the three chatted, he scanned the room for what he really wanted: drugs. 

“Well look who’s gracing us with her Legacy presence!” Lex said as she came to them, “And in public no less!”

“Rules are different outside of school.”

Saya. Shorted haired, slender, dressed in black, she’d initially been the reason he joined King’s. He’d tried running from it before. He’d tried running from it all. He’d been standing where his parents died until she came to his rescue. ‘What do you have to lose?’ she’d asked him that night. She’d kissed him. The taste of her lipstick, the smell of her hair in the wind made him dizzy standing on that ledge. He’d thought they’d continue talking; maybe they’d become friends. But once again, life proved him wrong. Sipping his beer, he forgot about her. At school, her Legacy status meant she couldn’t talk to him. The Kuroki Syndicate wouldn’t forgive her if she started hanging out with him at school. But strangely at a party it didn’t matter. He didn’t understand the point of the class system. 

Maelyn. Now, Maelyn he can talk to whenever, wherever. 

Saya noticed Maelyn right away, “Hey, you’re the new girl, right?”

“Um yeah,” she said, sticking out her hand, “Maelyn.”

“Saya.” He couldn’t help noticing her eyeing Maelyn. Another admirer? “I heard from one of my crew you aced Denke’s poison exam.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s hard, is it?” Maelyn shrugged. “It was a simple acid based poison at a low Ph level for minimum damage. I personally would choose some more plant-based if I poisoned anyone, since they’re harder to trace and can look more natural. But I suppose acidity works if you wanna get a point…” she stopped when she noticed them watching her. She gave a slight cough, “Um, sorry.”

“And have you?” Billy asked. 

“Have I what?”

“Poisoned someone.” 

She looked between the three of them before saying, “In a way? I used to make poisons for my dad whenever he wanted a clean attempt. Well, as clean as you can get with poisons.” 

He’d blocked out the conversation at this point. He’d lost himself in trying to find anyone who might sell to him. There must be one dealer around here somewhere. He saw a group of Hessians-kids in black t-shirts with long hair-passing a joint amongst them, and knew. 

“Do you always carry that katana?” Maelyn asked Saya halfway through. 

“I do. It’s a sign of honor where I’m from.” 

He spotted a large balding man in a green coat walking across the room. Yes! “Is that Shabnam’s old man?” he asked. 

“Nah, he’s with the Hessians,” Billy answered. “Probably a pederast.” 

“Let’s go make friends with him.”

“I am not getting buggered for a joint again,” said Lex.

Marcus made his way to the dealer. He stood by the fishtank teaching a long-haired Hessian about gravity bongs. Marcus didn’t care where his high came from, as long as it came. In a reflection in the window, the world went red again. His chest tightened and his head spun as Rory began laughing at him through a sea of crimson. No. No, wouldn’t let him get to him. _Nihil est verum. Omne quod licet. Nihil est verum. Omne quod licet._ He repeated the strange mantra in his head, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking Rory from sight. He needed a high. He needed another beer. 

****

“....I post up, right? Tryin’ to do what I gotta. Comes at the dome, dodge that, hit him with one, pop right back up, back in my face. Dude had a screwdriver, so I did what I had to…”

Willie didn’t stop. He’d gone about what he’d supposedly done all day. Marcus immediately wished he hadn’t helped him. It’d been a class assignment: kill somebody who deserved it and bring back proof. Marcus helped him find Rory in their little shanty town under the bridge, but once Willie pulled out his gun, he backed out. He claimed to be a pacifist who didn’t believe in killing. He’d been forced to the school by his mother. Marcus did it for him. Marcus did everything for everyone. He always put his neck on the line for complete strangers. While Willie gloated, he leaned against a wall downing a bottle of vodka he’d taken from the bar. He forced himself to not think of Rory or the redness. He’d forget the entire thing ever happened. 

Was he a bad person for doing what he did? He’d taken a human life. Granted, it’d been a horrible human, but still human. Rory no longer walked the earth because of him. In actuality, he was no different than regular murderers and thieves. He went to a school for assassins; he should expect that kind of assignment. The storm raged inside him with crashing oceans and thunder. He hadn’t gotten the high from the Hessian’s dealer, so he stuck to Shabnam’s bar which supplied plenty of drinks. The vodka bottle empty, he’d need another drink. Then another and another and another until any memory of Rory and that night left his mind. He’ll drink forever if it meant forgetting. 

“...And then I grabbed that pipe and wham! Knocked his lights out!”

He wouldn’t shut up. Marcus needed him to shut up. He pulled out his walkman and on came the headphones. He’d planned on shutting everyone out before a flowery scent reached his nose again. Maelyn stood in front of him arms crossed. 

“What kind of guy invites a girl to a party and then leaves her hanging for drugs?” she didn’t sound upset. In fact, she didn’t sound surprised at all. 

Guilt hit him like a bullet in the gut. “An idiot, I guess,” he said. 

She gingerly took the headphones from him and placed them over her ears. She snickered, “The Smiths? Not exactly party music, is it?”

“No, but it’s honest and brave...unlike some I know.” He forced himself not to look at Willie nearby. 

“What do you mean?” she handed him back his headphones, which he held idly in his hand. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Really.” 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing if you’re drowning yourself in it,” she noted. 

“Look, it’s not like you know me-”

“-But I know when someone is running from something.” Despite her height, she stood her ground. “Does this have to do with that Willie kid?”

“Wait, you know him?”

“We have Criminal History together,” she said. “He let me borrow his pen. He’s actually really sweet. He’d been bragging about his Black Arts assignment all day in class.”

“Probably because he wants to screw you. You know, like every other guy you run into.” Rory’s laughter filled his head. Willie’s story droned on and on nearby to anyone who’d listen. Nihil est verum. Omne quod licet. 

“It’s not like I ask for it,” she replied. “Are you always this big of an asshole or is it because of me?”

It’d never be her. She shouldn’t be around someone like him who’s so broken and angry. He’d bring nothing but misery for her. “Like I said, you barely know me.”

Frustration went across her face, “But I would’ve liked to.” 

The words made the entire thing even worse. She stormed away from him into the party. He felt like an idiot. She would’ve liked to know him. But would she like him once she did? Would she like him after hearing his whole reputation is a sham and he’s just another lonely kid? He hated imagining the rejection. He leaned against the archway, sticking the walkman back in his pocket and saw her. She stood with Petra and Saya looking annoyed. She wasn’t drinking the beer anymore; she’d moved to a red cup instead. He’d hurt her. He saw it in her snappy replies to Petra’s gentleness and Saya’s wisdom. He should apologize. He should go to her, take her in his arms and kiss her. 

“You ain’t gonna get any if you just stand there lookin’ at her.”

Willie, dressed in a tracksuit with a gold chain, came up beside him. “I’m not looking at her,” he lied. 

“I don’t blame you for it,” he said. He gazed in her direction, “She’s fine as hell. Hella smart too. She blew everybody away in Criminal History.”

“You take Criminal History?”

“Hey, a man can like crime documentaries, can’t he?” he defended. “Besides, we improve ourselves by learning from our mistakes in the past.” He observed Marcus a bit longer, then said, “You scared of her?”

“No.”

“There ain’t no reason to be. She’s little. She won’t bite-”

“-You’re the last person to talk about being brave,” Marcus snapped. 

“Whining about not getting with some cute girl ain’t brave.”

“It’s hard to be fearless about sadness.”

“It’s hard to...what?”

“Some people hide it,” he’d change the subject to anything but Maelyn. “Like it’s a weakness.” He looked right into Willie’s eyes as he said, “Acting so fucking tough…”

Willie paused, looking at him back, “You ain’t got a rep. People will see you weak and come at you.”

“Let them. Better to expose your ankles and see which snakes bite.” 

“Then you’re in the wrong place, because here at King’s Dominion, we all bite.” He added, “Now you better go talk to that girl before that other dude does.”

“What other dude?”

Willie walked away without answering. Marcus looked back to the bar where she’d been a moment before. He searched around the room for her, finding her dancing by herself. She went off like a firecracker to the music; moving her body along to the beat with everyone else. He liked the way she giggled off the feeling of her own giddiness. If he hadn’t known better, he’d thought she was drunk. Perhaps that’s what her pursuer thought. He glanced around the crowd and spotted him. The man wore a long black coat over a Whitesnake shirt. By his scraggly hair and beard, he must be with the Hessian dealer. He stood in a corner with a few of the headbangers, watching Maelyn closely. Marcus tried rationalizing even in his slightly tipsy state. He could be looking at someone else. He might be staring off into space in some kind of drug induced trance. But then he confirmed his suspicions when Maelyn made her way into the center of the room, the man’s eyes followed. The instinct jumped out of him. The same one that got him in trouble every time. 

He strode into the flood of dancers and drinkers towards her. She gave a yelp when he grabbed her, spinning her to his chest. Immediately, Maelyn yanked herself from him. 

“What are you doing?” she sniped. 

“Dance with me,” he said quickly, taking her hand again.

“First, you ditch me to get high. Then you go off and sulk in a corner, and now you want to dance?” A little viper. That’s what she was. “You’re drunk, Marcus.”

He reached for her a third time and didn’t let go. He took her by the waist, put one of her hands on his shoulder and held up the other. All the alcohol and cigarette smoke filtered out her perfume; her lip gloss faded in the time since they arrived. For a brief moment, he wanted to kiss the rest off. 

“Let go of me!” she attempted to free herself, but he held her tight. 

“There’s a guy following you,” he hissed in her ear. He pretended to be kissing her neck as he said, “Willie says he’s been stalking you.”

Her body stiffened in his embrace. He heard her gulp thickly, “What guy?”

“Dude in a black coat and Whitesnake shirt,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t-Don’t look at him. Just stay close to me, okay?”

“Oh, is Captain Superdrunk gonna protect me? That guy will throw you down like a rag doll.”

“I’m not going to let somebody hurt you.”

“Why? Do you have a thing with getting into fights with people?”

“No, I have a thing for sticking my neck out for complete strangers. Call it a hero complex.” Also, he’d never live with himself if he let anything happen to her. They kept a slow dance to the high-tempo music. He liked this, he realized. She felt different. He’d never danced with anyone before, but it came so naturally to him with her. He spun her around, earning a small giggle when he came back to him. Their bodies became magnets completely stuck together. Neither said anything for a while, not seeing the point considering the loud music. 

“I don’t like the attention,” she suddenly said. “I don’t like people looking at me. It’s only my first day and three guys have already tried flirting with me.” 

“Three?”

“Lex, this Hessian guy just now and that Russian guy, Victor. It’s disgusting. They have absolutely no shame or conscious. It’s like I’m a conquest they’re all fighting over. I showed a little bit of kindness and suddenly it means I wanna screw them.” She sighed, “Maybe I should start being a bitch. Saya says it’s safer like that; nobody touches you.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “Don’t think like that. You shouldn’t change yourself because of other people. Shit like that works for Saya because she’s got that katana, but you...” He checked over her shoulder, seeing the creeper still standing there avoiding eye contact. “You’re not like that.” 

“You barely know me,” she repeated his words back. “How do you know I’m changing who I am?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just kinda get this feeling off of you. Call it a hunch.” 

The music changed to an equally up-beat song, but they continued their slow dancing. When they made a turn, she spotted him. Fear hit her like a wave. Her hand quivered in Marcus’s and she stayed close to him. He held her tightly, leaving only inches between their faces. 

“You know him,” he murmured, “Don’t you?”

“No. He’s-He’s just, you know, like creepy and stuff.”

All thought of drinking his sorrows left him when he saw it. The fear she desperately tried hiding. He knew it because he once feared the same way. Those late nights in the boys home, praying that he’d get to sleep a full night without hands touching him. The constant worry he might upset his bunk mate and be mutilated for fun. Worrying about being beaten or whipped for ‘disobedience’ brought on the fear Maelyn showed now. The fear of somebody chasing you; having to watch your back all the time. A single misstep and the danger caught you. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he said to her, pressing his forehead to hers. This time she didn’t push him away. “Get lost for a while somewhere else.” He hardly knew her, but wanted her with him. 

“Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

She took his hand and led him through the crowd. He’d expected they’d go out the front, but instead she guided him into the kitchen. Consistently, she checked over her shoulder for the man. She made sure they stuck to big groups where they’d be less noticeable. He took in how silently she walked, like a cloud gliding through the air, yet kept a normal pace. He said nothing to her as they walked outside. She looked around again before reaching a side gate. He was about to tell her it was locked but then she withdrew a lockpick. More and more Maelyn continued amazing him. 

“This way,” she gestured for him to follow her. Once he entered the small side entrance, she locked the gate behind them. 

“Can you please explain to me why we’re sneaking around?” he asked annoyed. “The creeper isn’t gonna follow you for this long.” 

“Just come on,” she said. “You can buy me ice cream for being a dick earlier.” 

Shabnam’s parents kept the side way as a storage for landscaping equipment. The pair passed rows of potted plants, bags of manure, gardening supplies and a lawn mower. Even in the dimness, he had no trouble guiding through the way. He’d done it in the boys home all the time. While everyone slept, he’d creep through the dark corridors for his supplies like a mouse. His eyes adjusted to darkness easily, and he never questioned why. Nobody ever caught him. Just like they hadn’t caught him making the bomb. 

“There you are,” a raspy voice said ahead of them. His body bumped into Maelyn’s and they looked at him. The creeper must’ve used the front entrance as Marcus first suggested they’d do. “He’s not supposed to be here,” he said, looking at Marcus, “You were supposed to be alone.”

“Stay back,” Maelyn’s sweet tone suddenly became cold. “There’s no point cornering me here. People will see you. Go back to your master, lapdog.”

“Nobody saw me coming in,” the man replied in a toothy grin. “They won’t see me coming out.” Marcus recognized a flash of silver glint in the light from the windows. He thought somebody might see them, but as the man said, the party raged on. “Now, you’ll come quietly with me, girl, after I handle your friend.”

Marcus blocked Maelyn from view. “Handle yourself, creep.” 

“Oooh, saucey boy,” the man cackled. A deep wound opened inside Marcus. He knew another person who cackled like that, but no. He’s dead. 

He was given no time for reflecting. The man gave a single swing of his blade but ended up missing Marcus by inches. The shock froze him for a second; a fight was the last thing he wanted. Marcus kept Maelyn behind him when the man took another swipe. He laughed at Marcus’s feeble attempts to dodge him. He won’t let him hurt Maelyn. The small space left him barely any room. At a third swipe, Marcus took his chance. He made to charge at him, but then something rushed by him. A few feet from them laid a rusty spade, blunt from years of digging into the earth. Marcus barely processed it before Maelyn ran and bounced off the wall, kicking the man across the head. When she landed, she threw a punch square into his face and then another to his jaw. He gathered his wits quickly and slashed the knife at her, but she dodged every swing. She moved so fluidly and quickly Marcus’s booze-influenced brain had trouble keeping up. She grabbed a nearby gardening fork that she used to block his knife. When the creeper thrusted it forward to her chest, she hooked the fork on it so it sailed out of his hand. 

“Get out of here,” she told Marcus over her shoulder. She slammed the small gardening fork upside the man’s face, making him stumble to one side. 

“No, I’m not leaving you.”

“Go!” 

It all seemed too real. It couldn’t possibly be happening again. His heart pounded in his ears and he couldn’t steady his breathing. Rory’s menacing laughter came back to him in the redness; he was laughing at him. Scared. Frozen. Useless. He looked on as Maelyn fought off her attacker. The man swung a right hook that caught Maelyn in the cheek, causing her to nearly fall. She swayed for a second, leaning a hand on the wall to regain her breath. Seeing her cheek red in the light, a sudden rage went through him. Marcus charged past as the man moved to her and wrapped his arms around his torso. Hitting the center of his gut, the man doubled over Marcus and began punching at his stomach. Angry blows hit right on the older man’s kidneys, which made him jolt. He easily threw Marcus into the house wall and advanced to Maelyn, who was ready. 

She moved like lightning, striking hard and fierce at the man several times. It was as if she’d been unleashed; as if she’d wanted to do this all day. The man didn’t go down easily. Eventually beating her to the ground, he pinned her down and put the knife to her throat. Reality snapped back into Marcus, who then rushed forward to them. A swift kick to his face distracted the man, making his head tilt upwards and blood spew from his nose. Maelyn took this opportunity to roll him onto his back. A single hit from the back of the spade knocked him out cold. 

When Maelyn stood up panting and sweating, she met his eyes. “What the fuck was that?” he asked incredulously. “Who is this guy?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just go back to the party.”

She tried pushing him back down the side of the house, but he stopped her. “I’m not going until you answer me: what the fuck just happened? Was that guy after you? Why? Did your dad get in trouble or something? And where’d you learn to fight like that? You were super fast and took him down like nothing. I’ve never seen that. What’s going on?”

“Trust me, Marcus,” she said, “It’s better if you don’t know anything. If we’re lucky, he’ll forget he saw you.”

“Why would that matter?” he took her hand, “Is somebody after you? Do they want to hurt you?”

“Just go back to the party and forget it.” She freed herself from him and began going down the lane. 

“Well, where are you going then?” he followed behind, his back beginning to ache from being thrown to a wall. 

“Back to school.”

“A guy just tried to kill us and you wanna go walking on your own?” they reached the end of the side where they faced an opened gate. “Maelyn, what’s going on? Why did he try to kill you?”

She turned and looked at him imploringly, “Get back to the party, Marcus, please.”

He stayed behind her even as she sped up. Once they reached the large tree in the yard, he lost her in the group around it. He searched around the place for her. He wanted to talk to her, at least comfort her. Someone came at her with a knife; she went walking alone in the dark. She shouldn’t be by herself. What if she got hurt again? 

As he looked around, the world changed. Not into the deep red Rory brought, but a ghostly gray. It came over everyone like mist. The partygoers turned nearly opaque in the fogginess, though he still made out their shapes. This had occurred twice before. The first time happened when he lost his parents at the fair. He’d cried like mad, looking around for them by a cotton candy station until the world turned misty. The second time had been that night in the boys’ home. He’d tried catching a glimpse of the guards stationed around the house; the world became a grey backdrop for the golden figures. As he’d done then, he stared around until he found her. A gleaming speck of gold stood out in the sea of gray far ahead of him. He wouldn’t catch her now. He let her go for tonight. The real world appeared before his eyes as if nothing changed, and he went back into the house. 

He spent most of the night wondering about Maelyn Dorian and if she was who she said she was


	5. Trust No One

Maelyn managed to dodge Marcus all weekend. She avoided the places he might go, and spent a good amount of time in the training room. A large circular room of paneled walls, a sparring mat sat in the center, and dummies hung from the ceiling off on the sides. A weapons rack gave her a wide range of tools, and given the situation, she practiced each one. Master Lin told her the monks will help her with physical combat, consider they’re equally adept. But despite all the kicking, punching, shooting and cutting, she thought of Marcus. Not how he parted his hair or the way his scar cut through his eyebrow and cheek. Not how full and pink his lips looked last night or the way he held her like she’d float away from him. He’d helped her, how little he could. He could’ve easily run away from the scene and told everyone what he saw. But he hadn’t. Even after chugging down bottles and cups, Marcus still stood his ground to protect her. Only her father ever did that. 

She saw Shabnam's face in Criminal Accounting on Monday. Large black and blue bruises spotted his face, and a small cut scratched his bottom lip. Maelyn instantly felt guilty, though she did nothing wrong. It hadn't been her who hit him or who spread word of the party. Still, she pitied him all the same. He'd told her that they'd destroyed his mother's carpet, wrecked most of the house, and left condoms and other things all over. He'd blushed in humiliation when he told her what Lex beat him with.

“I didn't think dildos could be so heavy,” he said, pushing up his glasses. “Or long...or thick…” he shuddered. 

“I'm sorry that happened to you,” she scooted closer to him to examine a particularly nasty mark. “Have you been looked at?”

“The nurse says they're not that bad. They should clear up soon.” The pair turned back to their books, jotting down numbers and formulas. He then looked to her hand, “What happened to you?” he nodded to the fading bruises going across her knuckles. Honestly, she’d barely noticed them until the next morning when they’d become purple splotches overnight. 

“Door accident,” she said quickly. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Did you at least put ice? They look bad.”

“I did. Thanks,” she should’ve put makeup over them. 

“I wish I'd never asked,” he continued, “I should have known with there being no drugs around school.”

“It's not your fault,” Maelyn immediately said. “You were being nice and they took advantage of that.”

“You mean your boyfriend did,” he scoffed, writing in his notebook.

“Boyfriend?”

“Marcus. I saw you guys all over each other on the dance floor. Not to mention, you guys sneaking off together waves a few red flags.” He sounded almost upset, “He was there, you know. Watching me get hit.”

“I'm sure he was just drunk and out of it. He was tipsy when he was with me,” she copied down more formula. “He would've done something.”

“You've only known him a few days,” he said. “How could you know?”

“I just do.”

He'd helped her that night. Well, as much as his capabilities allowed. He isn't a skilled fighter; most likely used to merely punching and grappling. He’d put up a decent fight against the towering man; his kick sent his head flying, giving her the opportunity to roll him over. From what she’d gathered, he mostly lost the fights he picked. He had good intentions, she knew. He’d protected her and then aided her, rather than sitting back to watch. Maybe if he’d been level headed, he’d helped more. Since then, she’d ignored him and his questions. 

“I’m getting a roommate,” he continued miserably. 

“That’s good.”

“No, it’s not. I know it’s gonna be him. He’s been sleeping in the broom closet since he got here.”

“The broom closet?” She’d gotten a room right away. She might not like her roommate-a Prep girl from a CIA family-but she’d slept in worse places. 

“They couldn’t find a proper room for him right away.”

“Well, you never know. Maybe they’re giving him someone else’s room and that person will bunk with you.”

Shabnam met her eyes. “Thanks for the comfort,” he said, “But it’s all too obvious. I’ll get stuck with psycho hobo kid for sure.”

“He’s not that bad,” she rolled her eyes, writing down answers. “He’s a substance abuser. They need drugs and booze to feel okay, otherwise they lose their shit like he did. I mean, I don’t want to stereotype him, but it’s really common in the homeless. I’ve seen it loads of times: people who are traumatized and abandoned turn to things that’ll bring on a good feeling, even if for a moment. I don’t blame him honestly. I’m sure he’s been through loads if he is the way he is.”

He only stared at her in disbelief. “You’re actually defending him?”

“No, I’m telling you that you’re not the only one with problems. It’s fucked up what he did, but...Life is too short to be unforgiving. The cops would’ve come either way.”

He leaned closer to her, “The cops didn’t come because of the party.”

“What?”

“Well, I mean they would’ve busted us anyways, the place was so loud. But they originally came because one of my neighbors saw some guy getting beat up. It was dark so they couldn’t make out faces, but when police found him, he was dead.”

“Dead? How?”

“They found him with his skull cracked. They think it might’ve been an accident, you know, manslaughter.” 

No. She couldn’t have. She’d hit only his face to knock him out. How had he died from that? Perhaps he’d hit one of the decorative garden stones? A crash of guilt came over her, but she continued taking down her notes. She’d killed before; it comes with Assassin duties. As an initiate, she isn’t authorized for assassination missions. She can only kill if necessary unless told strictly otherwise. Someone else killed the mercenary; someone who’d want to tie up loose ends. The dismissal bell rang and she left Shabnam for Poison Lab. She knew she’d run into Marcus again, who will continue his barrage of questions. He deserved explanations and answers, but she can’t. She just can’t. Enough had already happened without her spilling everything three days in. 

“Hey,” she spotted Petra by her locker, taking out her lab textbook. “How was the party?”

“It was alright,” she shrugged. “Nothing outstanding happened. Lex beat Shabnam with a dildo, Marcus threw beer in Brandy’s face, and Billy told me he loved me.”

“What? No way!” she leaned on the locker beside Petra’s. “I never guessed that about him.”

“Neither did I.”

“That’s nice though. What did you say?”

“I…” she hesitated, closing her locker. “I didn’t say anything. Well, I told him it was nice and he’s a sweet guy, but...That’s all.”

“At least you laid it down gently?” Billy was sweet. A bit strange, but not a complete dick like everyone else. 

“I tried. I didn’t know what else to say.” She sighed heavily, closing her locker. “Nobody’s ever told me that before, so I panicked. I walked away before he noticed.” She caught Maelyn’s eyes, “Look, let’s just drop it, okay?” 

“Okay.” She’d press her for more, but they’d only just became friends. Friends are key to survival. She’d already knocked out one in Marcus. 

The two talked about everything but the party as they reached their class. “So what about you and Marcus?” asked Petra, taking their seats upfront in class. “He kept asking me all weekend if I’d seen you.”

“Nothing happened. Why?” 

“I heard you guys got a little friendly.”

“By ‘friendly’ do they mean two friends just having fun dancing together?”

“No, they mean him kissing your neck, spinning you around and then you both leaving together.” She then said, “You should probably have waited a little longer. I don’t think ‘slut’ is a good first impression.”

Petra laughed as Maelyn smacked her arm, “It wasn’t like that. He was drunk and wanted someone to vent to.”

“Oh, I bet he vented all right. You got him all hung up on you.” 

“Wow, Maelyn looks like you’re getting extra credit,” Lex appeared behind them. “You got the Queen of Darkness to smile!” Petra’s grin instantly vanished as she glared his way. “Hey, hey,” he whispered to her, leaning forward over his desk, “Is it true about you and Stalin over there? Eh? I heard you two really rocked-”

“-What I did or didn’t do is none of your business,” Petra sniped. “You should be worried about everyone calling you a crossdressing fairy.”

“What? Where’d you hear that?”

Petra winked at Maelyn before saying, “From one of the Goop Patrol.”

“Those little wankers…”

“What happened between you and Viktor?” Maelyn asked, turning pages in her textbook. 

“Same as you. Nothing.” When she grinned, Maelyn noticed a thin scar going across from her cheek to chin. 

“Petra!”

“What? I was just curious.”

“Hey Maelyn.” 

Where she’d expected Marcus she saw Jaden, a Hessian with thick brown hair cut around his shoulders. She suppressed the groan in her chest. “Hi Jaden.”

“I missed you at the party last night,” he continued in a smile. “I was hoping you and I could’ve smoked together. Maybe I could’ve helped pop that weed cherry of yours.” She already knew the pitch, “If you’re not busy after school, maybe we can go hang out in the Graveyard. It’s the best place to smoke.” 

“No thanks,” she said gently. “I’m not really into that.”

“How will you know if you’ve never tried?”

“I wouldn’t bother knocking on that door, mate,” Lex interjected. “This one’s already taken.”

“Oh yeah? By who? You, Rat?”

“Marcus,” Lex replied. “You know, Psycho Rat.”

“Really?” Jaden looked in disbelief. “Him? Is that what you’re into?”

“I’m not ‘into’ anyone and I’m not ‘taken’,” Maelyn spat. 

“Then that means you’ll-”

“-No,” she said firmly. 

What was it with men and the word ‘no’? Grunting about her being a ‘frigid bitch’, Jaden slid off the stool and walked to the back of the room. She turned a few pages in her notebook when she paused. He was behind her. She felt him a few feet away claiming Jaden’s seat. She thought he might whisper to her or try engaging in conversation. He stayed silent instead, settling into his seat as the lecture began. She barely paid attention to Denke’s recap of their last lesson. He’d ask her again and she can’t ignore him forever. 

It became very taxing. 

They'd begun working on that day's assignment, identifying poisonous plants and naming the symptoms they create, when a small white paper poked her elbow. She knew what it was. Discreetly, she opened it. 

_"What was that last night?"_

_"Nothing,"_ she wrote back. 

A moment later, the paper came back. "That wasn't nothing. I think I deserve some kind of explanation as to why that guy wanted us dead." 

She should tell him. She should tell him why knowing is dangerous. That might put him at ease. Putting her pen to the paper, Denke stopped next to her. He stuck out his palm. 

“Give it here, Dorian,” he said, holding out for it. 

She handed the note and her stomach churned seeing him read. He stared between them, then folded it back up. Maelyn did not like the look he gave her next. If her father didn’t already know, he’d certainly know now. She could already hear him scolding her. She continued her work hoping against hope Marcus will finally drop it. The more he knew the worse it’ll be. If they knew she'd been with him they may go after him too. The mercenary being dead is one good thing, but whoever killed him might’ve seen Marcus. Unless they’d come much later. They’d have to have shown up between the time she left and when the police came. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who killed him. Templars never leave ends untied. A living target means a dead mercenary. To be fair, they hadn’t chosen the smartest or toughest of the bunch. 

“You know, if you don’t want people thinking you and Marcus hooked up,” Petra said over their books, “You might wanna quit it on the note passing.”

She felt grateful when the dismissal bell rang. Though, this only lasted a minute. Just as she picked up her bag, Denke called out, “You stay put, Maelyn.”

She groaned. She’ll be hearing it from her father later; now she’ll hear it from her Poison Lab teacher. He approached her once the room was empty, sliding the open note in front of her. “What happened last night?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “It’s the typical teenage stuff. I gave him an inch of time and he wanted a mile. He’s just mad because he didn’t get any.”

“You must have him under a spell then,” he said, unconvinced. Cool grey eyes looked back on her intently, “I’ve never heard of a teenage boy asking for an explanation or thinking he deserves one.” He then saw her hand. She definitely wished she’d covered it up. “You know, Maelyn, I’ve known your dad a long time. We went to school together. I’ve been a friend of the Brotherhood for years.”

“You have?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I helped invent and modernize a lot of gear you guys use. Your dad hoped I might help you with your poison dart problem.”

“What ‘poison dart problem’? My darts work fine.”

“After what happened at Abstergo, he doesn’t think so.” He fixed his silver rimmed glasses and said, “He also asked me to watch out for you.”

She groaned, “Of course he did.”

“And I don’t know this might just me, but if something dangerous happened to you last night, you should tell me. Better yet, tell your dad.”

“What? Are you kidding? He’d lose his shit if I told him what happened.” 

“So something did happen then?”

“Yeah, Marcus being a creep.”

“Marcus is anything but a creep,” he stated. “He’s inquisitive, you know. He’s stubborn too.”

“Tell me about it,” she grumbled.

“Then you better find an answer for this,” he tapped the paper, “Soon.”

“In the meantime you’re going to tell Dad.”

“I have to. Lin instructed the teachers if they saw anything fishy concerning you, we were to report it to him.”

“Oh come on,” she pleaded, “Mr. Denke! He’ll kill me if he even thought something serious happened! And what about Marcus?”

“Well if it really was ‘teenage crap’, then neither of you have nothing to worry about.” He folded up the note and tucked it in his pocket. “Marcus might have a bad reputation around here,” he said, “But he’s not a bad friend to have. He’s not like these other kids who have their futures mapped out and have no real goals. I think he’d make a good friend for you, especially with what you’re up against.”

“Marcus can barely manage himself in a fight-”

“-But he still fights and that’s a lot more than what any of these dipshits will do for you.” He then said, “Maybe you should let people think you’re a couple. It might save you some heat from the others.”

“Considering how they feel about him,” she grabbed her bag once again, “I think it’d make things worse.” 

“Think about it.” 

Did people honestly think that? She’d only been at Kings four days. Considering the circumstances of her enrollment, attention is the last thing she needed. She thanked Denke and left the room. Walking around the corner, a rough hand pulled her aside to a row of lockers. She recognized his cigarette scent right away. It had enveloped her the night of the party. Marcus stood a foot away from her, bag on his shoulder and confusion in his eyes. His wide, chocolate brown eyes lined with pretty long lashes. 

“You’ve been avoiding me all weekend,” he accused immediately. 

“Because you keep asking questions you shouldn’t know the answers to,” she said in a hushed tone. She noticed people glancing their way and she felt worse. Denke was right. He was persistent. 

“Why shouldn’t I know?” he stared around also before dropping his voice, “I think I should considering I haven’t told anyone how you went all Hong Kong Fuey on a dude. You know he’s-”

“-Dead, yeah. Shabnam told me. If it clears your conscious, we didn’t kill him. Shabnam said the police thought he might’ve hit his head on a rock. I only knocked him out.”

“Then if you didn’t kill him, who did?” 

She crossed her arms, “I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s one question answered-” he glimpsed the wall behind her, and then looked to her again.

“-The guy didn’t want to kill me,” she said first. “He was paid by his bosses to kidnap me. He was planning on killing you since, you know, no witnesses.”

“Who are his bosses?” he fixated on her as if ignoring something.

“Bad people. There. You know everything,” she fixed her bag on her shoulder, “If you don’t mind I’d like to go to lunch-What are you even looking at?!” 

She glanced behind her to see the training room door. The Creed written across is glowing letters, their insignia was drawn above it. All Marcus should see is the fire alarm that served as the door handle. A single tug and the wall will slide aside. She turned back to Marcus, but he cut her off. 

“Let’s get to lunch,” he said, taking her hand and leading her away. 

Seeing the wall made his shoulders tense and he clenched his jaw. Why? Could he see the words? No, not possible. She’d seen him last night. If Marcus were an Assassin, he’d actually win the fights he picked. Unless he’s hiding too. Unless he’s not an Assassin, and is actually someone else. He let go of her hand once they reached the cafeteria, but it’d been too late. She pretended not to notice the people staring. Put her mind somewhere else and nothing can touch her. They both shuffled into the lunch line, putting trays down to be served. Marcus can’t be either side. He would’ve known why the mercenary wanted to kidnap her. He wouldn’t have helped her. Unless he wanted to gain her trust. Unless he didn’t want to arouse suspicion from her. She looked over to him picking up a carton of milk. She can’t trust him no matter what Denke said about him. She can’t trust anyone.


	6. Jerking and Lying

_‘There’s something about Maelyn’s that’s different. I don’t mean in that ‘she’s-not-like-other-girls’ kind of way because she definitely is like other girls. But I think there’s more to her than meets the eye. Papa always told me cheesy lines like ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ and ‘you never know what’s under the rock until you flip it’. Maybe he’s kind of right. We mask who we truly are to save face, keep on moving and hope nobody ever pulls back the curtains. The fear of rejection, ridicule or punishment has made us shield ourselves from the world; build up these walls to keep everyone else out. Life is easier when you’re guarded by the walls you put up; it helps you see who cares enough to tear them down. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to hide from me; she can tell me what’s really going on, what’s behind her walls. She’s more than a mousey school girl who likes books and plants.’_

He turned the page in his flimsy, battered notebook. Pages filled with his writings and drawings, he kept it close at hand for moments like this. He really should be studying for his Black Arts test, but he’d given up ages ago. He turned to the drawings he’d done recently. Amongst caricatures of Reagan and drawings of buildings, he’d drawn the triangle on the door. He’d drawn it several different ways, but it always remained the same. A triangle curved on the bottom line. It must have meaning if it’s carved into a wall. The words too. He bolded them again with a black pen. _Nihil est verum. Omne quod licet.’_ What did that mean? It’s clearly Latin. He guessed whoever wrote it hoped nobody will be able to understand. Well, they were right. As he traced the triangles again, it came to him. The words might be the key to understanding the symbol or vice versa. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. 

Study Hall took place in the library, a dim room lined with bookshelves containing all kinds of subjects. The shriveled old librarian fell asleep at her desk; a murder could happen right now and she’d never hear it. Marcus scanned the language section until he found a book called _‘Latin Phrases and Translations: A Guide to the Ancients’_. He supposed this would do. He went back to his table, pulled out the book and began flipping through. He started on the first word, ‘Nihil’ which meant ‘Nothing’. ‘Est’ meant ‘is’. Verum meant ‘Truth,’ in his case ‘True’. ‘Nothing is true’? He wrote it on the side, then continued. ‘Omne’ is ‘Everything’. ‘Quod’ was another word for ‘Is’;’ and ‘Licet’ translated to into either ‘can or allowed’’. ‘Nothing is true. Everything is allowed’? The second half sounded familiar; he’d heard it before. Maelyn. She’d said it the first time they met; when they talked about power and fear. They’d connected in that moment. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Relief filled him seeing the words written in his book underneath the triangle. For the first time something made sense. But Maelyn said this. Well, part of it anyways. She must know what it means, but from experience he might as well ask the wall itself. 

Now the triangle. A secret society? A lot of secret societies and cults branded themselves with weird sigils. Putting the language book away, he searched through the world culture sections. He’d found one book called _‘Secrets of the Hidden Worlds’_ , then another titled _‘Secret Societies of the Twentieth Century’_ and _‘Cults Around the World’_. He picked out a few more and started searching. Nothing out of the ordinary popped out at him. 

“Secret societies, huh?” 

Maria came up beside his table, beaming down at him. She kept her thick black hair back with a red bandana that matched her belt and lipstick. Her olive-skin, pretty brown eyes and full lips entranced him once. He’d fallen quite easily for her when they first met, but then he regretted it. He regretted a lot of things lately. 

“Yeah,” he said, closing his notebook. “Just some light reading.”

She giggled, “A bit much for ‘light reading’.”

“How’s Chico?” he asked, changing subjects, “Still looking to kill me?”

He’d only kissed her once, but Chico acted as if they’d done it. The thought of the skinny, bald-headed boy made his blood boil. Chico was the biggest bully in King’s, and Marcus hated that. He certainly didn’t like how he treated his own girlfriend. 

“Not actively,” her spanish accent weaved around her words, only making her more attractive. But for the first time it didn’t affect him. His mind wandered elsewhere on the pages in front of him. He’d covered Maelyn’s name with his arm. He’d merely listed it for reference; not because her face popped into his head too much. He felt Maria watching him before she said, “I heard about you and the new girl.”

“Everyone has apparently.” 

“Is it true?”

“That I know her?”

“No,” she bent down to whisper, “That you fucked her.”

“So what if I did? It’s nobody’s business.” He’d rather people thought they slept together than beat the crap out of somebody. 

Maria looked over him a moment before saying, “You go through girls pretty fast, huh?”

“It’s not like that.”

“How is it not like that? Saya told me you guys kissed and I’ve kissed you too.”

“Saya kissed me to get me to come back here. You kissed me after you’d set me up to kill your boyfriend,” he snapped. “So, I’m sorry but you’re both not really on my dating list.”

“But mouse girl is?”

“Why does it matter to you?” he asked. “You’re with Chico.”

“I’m only looking out for you.” She leaned into him, her perfume filling his lungs, “She’s not who she says she is.”

“I know,” he bluffed. “She told me.”

“She did?”

“Yeah.” She could be lying. She could also be telling the truth. “You sound a little jealous,” he smirked, “Bothered that I’ve found someone else?” The idea honestly sounded nice. 

“No, I was bothered that she’d been lying to you too. But, I guess I was wrong.” She glimpsed the room for one of her gang, then stood up straight, “I should go.”

“Because it’s school hours and you can’t be seen with me,” he added. “You know, because I’m a Rat and all.”

“And because you have your own little mouse to play with now. See you around, Marcus.” 

Why were girls so complicated? He returned to his books. Nothing stuck out at him. He saw no sign of the phrase or the triangle on any of them. Whoever they are, they truly are a secret. He looked to the sleeping librarian nearby. He picked up his notebook and approached her. He knocked on the counter a few times before smacking it with his book. 

“Huh? What? Yes, what?” she stared around a moment, startled by the sudden jolt. “Oh, what? How-How can I help you, son?”

“I’m looking for anything related to this,” he showed her the page, pointing at the triangle. “Would you happen to know what it is or what it means? It’s not in any of the books here.”

She clutched at the pearls around her neck. She glanced frantically between him and the notebook before saying in a high voice, “No. I’ve never seen that before. Never. We don’t have anything about it here so don’t ask again!” She shut the front desk window in his face, turned her back and walked into the office behind her. 

As if that wasn’t telling at all. He left the front counter and left the library. So he figured out part of the puzzle. He went down the hall back to his dorm room, which he now shared with Shabnam. Guilt hit him whenever he saw the boy’s face now. He’d sat by and watched Lex beat him. He should’ve done something about it instead of sitting there. By then he’d been so far gone, his body so sore that he’d lost the ability to move quickly. Even when the cops showed up he’d lagged behind Billy and Lex. Visions of Maelyn and his fog-sight clouded his head that night; they’d covered up the laughing, taunting face of Rory. In a sea of ghostly figures, she’d shined gold. Why gold? He didn’t ponder on it too much. He had enough to figure out. Entering his room, he found himself alone. Shabnam must still be in his student council meeting. He snorted at the idea. He doubted anyone in the school cared about student council proceedings. 

She’d looked beautiful that night. He remembered how her snug top curved right over her perky breasts, flashing him her waist line instead. Her skirt exposed her smooth legs and thighs, which he imagined other guys drooled over. He’d love to touch them. He’d love to touch her. What if they’d stayed on that dance floor? What if he really had planted kisses on her neck, buried his face in her hair as his hands roamed her body? Knowing her, she’d push him away. But what if…?

He fell flat on his bed against his pillows. It’d been ages since he slept in a real bed in the warmth of a real bedroom. No fear. No pain. Definitely no trash, piss or rain. Only comfortable sheets and pillows to ease him into it. If only she was with him right now in that outfit. Her flowery perfume would envelope him like Maria’s did. His hands smoothing over her soft skin, slipping under her shirt where he’d unhook her bra. She’d grind into him. He knows she would. He pictured himself kissing down her neck as she searched for friction. He’d lay her on her back so he can take a look at her breasts; kissing and sucking on them. He wouldn’t bite. She’s too delicate for that. He’d give soft nips across them instead: up on each one and to her neck, claiming her. Marcus unbuckled his pants, almost seeing her doing it for him. When he took hold of himself, he saw her pretty lips instead. In his mind, she’s an expert. That innocence was a charade. She’d be a dirty girl who wants him to use her. She’d start off slowly licking up and down before finally stretching her mouth around him. 

“Mae…”

She’d be naked. She’d wear nothing but those knee high socks she wears to school. She’d keep her ass up in the air just so he can see the very curves uptop. He wasn’t blind. Maelyn had a very nice ass. Now, Marcus wouldn’t be inconsiderate. He’d lay her down before giving her cunt a few gentle licks. His cock twitched in his hand thinking of how sweet she must taste. The way she’d moan sounded almost heavenly, soft little pants as she said his name. He felt her running her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer so his mouth took over the hard nub between them. They’d be so eager by this point. He’d have a hard time stopping himself from grinding into his bedspread while she pushed into his face. He started pumping faster, his precum helping his hand glide over his shaft, thinking of Maelyn’s tight entrance. 

“Little slut…”

He’d call her that if she liked it. By this time, the tenderness will completely wash away in how horny he’d be. She’d ride him. He’d ask her to just so he could watch her bounce on him. He’d had plenty of squeeze and pinch with her on top. Her face contorted by pleasure, she’d lose herself. He’d lose himself with her. His hand gripping tightly, he thought of her on her stomach. He’d take her by the hips and move at a fast, steady pace. He’d want her to enjoy his cock. If he learned anything in the boys’ home, it was how to hold it back. But she won’t. No, her face on his pillow, her bottom pushing back into his hips, she’d cum hard. Right as he felt his own orgasm approaching, he stopped. He took a few breaths, thinking of how much she’d love to go again for him. He wouldn’t cum until she’d gotten her fill. He’d tug on her hair, spank her, slap her, and bite her. She’d beg him to do it too. By the third time, she’d want him to abuse her pretty little body. He continued stroking himself as he pictured fucking her on the desk behind him, on the floor, up against the wall, and maybe even Shabnam’s bed. He’d do it in all kinds of way just to hear her scream his name. 

Marcus finished quicker than he’d liked. Shabnam might walk in any second. The thought of maybe Maelyn still fucking him when that happened sounded nice. Fucking Maelyn anywhere sounded nice. He squeezed until every drop came out, then looked for a shirt to wipe with. Then he’d lay there naked with her; they’d hold each other close, kissing and talking. She’d feel good in his arms. She’d fit perfectly next to him. He finished undressing once his bearings came back to him. When he pulled on a fresh shirt, the door opened. 

“The meeting went great!” Shabnam entered, walking over to his side of the room grinning. “I got everyone to agree on more nurses in the infirmary. Did you know we only have two for the entire school? Those two work so hard considering the workload.”

“Because most people here can handle themselves,” Marcus said. He turned of the Commodore 64 by the tv, choosing a game from the array in front of him. 

“And people with broken bones? Concussions? There’s only so many injuries that only require first aid,” he said. “Maelyn agreed with me too.”

“Maelyn’s in student council?” he looked over his shoulder. “She’s only been here like what? Less than a week?”

“Oh no, she’s not in it. I needed a second opinion to back me up,” he said, looking for his shower caddy. “And she agreed to come. She’s…” he smiled, “She’s something else.”

“Yeah,” he picked out a boxing game, “She is.”

“You hang out with her, don’t you? I mean, you guys are Rats after all.”

“I do.” He knew where this was going. 

“Does she…” he hesitated, picking up his caddy from under the desk, “Does she talk about me at all to you?”

“Not really no.”

He could hear the disappointment. “Has she told you anything? You know about herself? I tried getting some stuff out of her, but,” he chuckled, “The girl is like a brick wall.”

“She’s pretty guarded, yeah. She talks to Petra a lot, so you should ask her.” The game started up and he picked his character.

“I wanted to get her a gift, you know, to like welcome her to King’s. A proper welcome. I want her to see that not everybody is a complete asshole.”

“Go ahead.” No, don’t go ahead. It didn’t sound like a bad idea. She is part of his group. She’s a Rat; not a Legacy like Shabnam. He should be the one to get it for her. “I’m sure she’ll like whatever you get her.”

He thought about the after thoughts of his jerk-off session. Maybe it might’ve happened after a nice date. They might go to the park or grab pizza or something cliche like that. He’d get her flowers. Girls like flowers and it’d match her perfume. Not roses. Roses are lame. Lilies? He wondered for a moment, but then shook his head. Forget about it. He barely knew her. Then again, he didn’t know Maria and he’d still kissed her. _‘I would’ve liked to’,_ she’d told him at the party.

“Not like I could actually date her,” Shabnam continued, heading to the door. “She likes you.”

“She does?” 

“She must if she liked you enough to sneak off with you.” He heard the disdain in Shabnam’s voice. “Do you even know her? Do you know where she’s from?”

“Chicago.”

“New York. Previously Paris.”

“What?”

“And her dad isn’t a contract killer,” he added. “He worked in an office. He’s dead. It says so in her file. She killed him after they’d gotten into some kind of argument, then went crazy and killed the rest of her family.”

“That’s...That’s not...How do you even know that?”

“It’s in her file. So, looks like I know more about her than you do.”

No, Shabnam didn’t. There’s no way it can possibly be true. The phrase. The symbol. She’s connected to it, and it’s not through a massacre. If that story was true, why hide it? It’d make her more dangerous if anything. “How’d you get to her file?”

“Through administration. I know people who work there, and I sometimes look through the files. It lets me know more about them; their weaknesses and stuff.”

“Why do you need to know her ‘weaknesses’? It’s not your business.”

“I just wanted to see if there’s anything special I could learn about her.”

“Don’t you dare blackmail her into fucking you.”

Shabnam almost cowered at his glare. “I-I wasn’t. I swear. I was looking for some similarities between us; something we can talk about besides school stuff. But if she’s really your girl, then I’ll step off.”

“She’s not my girl.” 

“Then why do you care if I give her a present?” 

“I don’t. Do what you want.” 

He wished he’d sounded more convincing. Shabnam gave him a knowing look, took his caddy and left the room. After a long day of club meetings, he’ll be gone for a while. Going into the administration office looked promising. Maybe there’s more there that Shabnam missed. He’d have to pick the right time. The office is closed after school hours, so it’d be empty at night. He’d need to find out more before heading inside. It reminded him of the boys’ home; when he stole parts for the bomb. The Anarchist Cookbook gave him a long list of things he didn’t have on hand. Plus, he’d had his bunkmate to worry about much like now. Normally he’d leave it alone, but if it meant finding a connection, then he’d risk it. 

“What’s up, bro?” Wille came in through the door in his uniform still, bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Hey.” They pounded fists and Willie grabbed a seat. 

It’d become a ritual for them. Wille came over to hang out and play video games while Shabnam went around having meetings. Wille-being part of Final World Order, Legacy group-couldn’t be seen with him publicly. They started out with the usual conversation: Marcus eloquently telling him he shouldn’t hide who he really is while Willie focused on the game. Only a half hour ago he’d been stroking it to Maelyn. Now, he sat here as if nothing happened. 

“So is it true? What everybody’s saying?” Willie cut in through his “patriotism is about self-interest” speech. “About you and Mouse?”

“Mouse? That’s what people call her?”

“Legacies do anyways. The nickname kinda floated around after Brandy called her a puny little mouse in History of Crime class. Plus, you know she’s a Rat and she’s kinda short.”

“She’s not that short.” 

“Still…” he looked his way, “But is it true? That you two hooked up at Shabnam’s?”

This was it. He can either confirm it and save Maelyn the trouble of being hit on or deny it and let the wolves come after her. He’d seen how guys reacted to her, specifically Legacies. She’s the new girl. She’s fresh meat for them to chew on. Problem for them was she didn’t like them. Maybe she likes someone of her own kind. Maybe. 

“Yeah,” he finally said. “We did.”

Willie hollered, “Oooh! I didn't think you had it in you, dawg. You were just standing there, moping about gay shit, looking at her.” He lightly punched his shoulder as they continued the game. “What was she like?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh come on, bruh! You can’t do this to me!”

“I certainly can,” he smirked, eyes on the screen. His character uppercut his opponent as he said, “Plus, I promised her I wouldn’t.”

“Just answer me this though,” he leaned closer, “Is she a freak?”

“Not telling.” In his head, he hoped she was. 

“Ah, that’s a ‘yes’!”

“No, it’s a ‘none of your business’.”

“But your face is telling me ‘yes’!” he laughed. “I knew it! It’s always the quiet ones.”

Willie continued pestering him for details, but he stood firm. He won’t give the wolves more meat. However, as they continued playing the game, he hadn’t thought about what Maelyn would think.


	7. Arno

“...All you gotta do is pay me, man.” 

She was in her element. Sliding in through the bathroom window felt like home. Tiptoeing through onto the carpet, she didn’t bother waiting for anyone to follow her. Maelyn rounded a corner in the hallway, looking down into a living room. In a shabby room of mismatched furniture, she saw a lanky, skinny man in a red and blue tracksuit on the phone. He stood beside someone strapped to a chair with a sack over his head. The man continued with his conversation, sliding the blade threateningly around his captive’s head. If Maelyn were allowed, she’d have used her blow darts, or perhaps unsheathed her hidden blade. A swift puncture to his spine would send him to his knees; getting him at the proper level to slice his throat. The green darts with their neurotoxin? Yes, please. Sadly, she had no weapon. It wouldn’t be the first time she went in defenseless. 

Well, not completely defenseless. 

Saya walked ahead of her; Maria following behind. She felt naked. Creeping along after them, she searched the room ahead of her. It’s a small apartment; closed quarters that will put her right up to him. A leather sofa sat up against the wall covered by a quilt and cushions. On the table by the window, she spotted a large chessboard, an ashtray and cups. The ashtray, most likely made of plastic, can be used to disorient him for a second. The lamp too, though that’d make for better defense than offense. She then saw a belt just laying on an end table closest to the hall. Thin and studded by metal, she could easily wrap it around her palm. A makeshift knuckle ring was better than nothing. If the belt didn’t work, the ashtray might come in handy. The quilt can distract him. All she’d need to do is creep towards the belt. 

THUMP!

Maelyn glared over her shoulder to Marcus, who’d fallen out of the window to the bathroom floor. His fall didn’t go unheard. The kidnapper turned and faced the group. 

He put down the phone and smiled, “Come to have fun, sweet pickles?”

“There’s nothing sweet about us,” said Maria in her red dress and dia del muerto makeup. 

Maelyn slowly sidestepped to the end table staying pressed against the wall as Saya swung a kick at him, which he dodged. Quickly, Maelyn grabbed the belt, wrapped it around her hand and aimed. He blocked it, grabbed her arm and pushed her into the couch. She grunted as her head nearly hit the wall behind it. Exactly where she wanted to be. She pushed off the couch, went for him again but he countered. She went down and hit the small dining table, things falling off over her in the process. She can’t be too obvious. Maelyn knew she needed to hold back. Taking a breath, she reached for the ashtray and threw it at him pathetically. It barely touched him. Her eyes finally went to the quilt. She rolled towards it as he and Saya fought, and held it up at the ready. He’s much taller than her. She can’t get a clear shot uptop so low she’ll go. When he knocked Saya down onto the coffee table, and sent Marcus to the floor, she threw the quilt right as he turned. For the brief seconds his face was covered, she sent a hit to the diaphragm that caused him to double over. 

Then a thin spiral cord went around his neck. Marcus tugged on the phone cord keeping the quilt on the kidnapper’s face. She watched and tightened her grip on the belt before he tapped on Marcus’s arm. Instantly, Marcus let go and the instructor pulled the quilt from his face. Maelyn’s heart finally slowed down and she dropped the belt. When Master Zane finally pulled off his wig, he spoke: 

“Class, what you just witnessed is sometimes you gotta fight with bare hands,” he lifted his fists up in a defense stance. “Like the guru of white karate Chuck Norris, Fire Walker. Other times,” he rubbed his neck where a faint redness blotched his skin, “You gotta improvise.” He pointed to Maelyn and Marcus. 

“You are twice our size,” Saya said bluntly. 

“Size smize,” he dismissed. “When I was a bouncer of Chester Drawers-aka Check for Sores-on the Jersey shore, every Italian from seaside to Sicily tried to take a swing at ol’ Master Zane. But I knocked the crap out of the with nothing but a brick. Atypical Combat Skills save your kisters, neisters. Now you two,” he addressed Saya and Maria, “Are losers.”

“His swan dive could’ve fucked up our entrance,” reasoned Saya.

“Nothing ever happens according to plan,” he replied. “Hobo kid and Mouse here still nailed it,” he beamed at them. “They not only showed resourcefulness in combat but teamwork. When you go in as a group,” he addressed the class, “It ain’t all about you. That trick with the blanket, Mouse,” he gave her an okay-gesture, “Perfect. Distraction doesn’t always work but when you get in just right it can really buy you some time. Nice job, hun.” 

“Thanks,” she grinned. 

‘Mouse’. She hated the nickname. Brandy Lynn gave it to her in their History of Crime class. Their instructor, Professor Hughes, decided they’d have an oral pop quiz. This meant pinning students against one another. She got paired beside Brandy, a blonde Nazi with hair the size of a rose bush. Unfortunately for Brandy, Maelyn beat her by two questions: “Who had a higher kill count? Dahmer or Gacy? Gacy. How many? 33.” “From what year to what year did Gilles de Rais kill boys he lured home? 1432 to 1433.” This left Brandy Lynn sour and scowling. 

“What does it matter? At the end of the day, she’s still just a weak little mouse. Not even a Rat.” 

The other Legacies in the class got a real kick from it. The name stuck. Even teachers called her that now. Class ended and they filed out of the demonstration room. She didn’t see much of a reason to change out of her hoodie and jeans, since she’d be going to the training room. She’d been itching to get inside the wooden room. Saya approached her more annoyed than upset. 

“Where’d you learn to hit like that?” 

“Hit like what?”

“Hit him in the diaphragm. You hit him in the exact spot where it’d hurt the most.”

“Oh, we learned about hit points in Beginner’s Combat,” she put on an innocent smile. Play it off. She’ll forget about it. Picking up her bag, she said, “Master Kim says it’s important to know them if you wanna get things over quickly. She said Atypical Combat is the best class to use what I learned. Why? Mad?”

“No, just curious. You actually have a lot of potential.” Was a Legacy actually complimenting her?

“Thanks.”

“A strange amount of it, really. Then again, you also had your boyfriend helping you.”

“Boyfriend?” 

“Marcus,” she nodded to the curly-haired boy picking up his uniform. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Talking about what exactly?” 

“You guys dating,” she said. “I think it’s cute. He needs someone to stop him from doing stupid shit and you need somebody to protect you. It’s win-win, right?”

She didn’t need anyone to protect her. “We’re not...We’re...Wait, what?” There’s no way people honestly think that. The rumor they’d hooked up was enough. 

“So you’re saying you’re not dating?”

“Um no? I’ve only been here a week.”

Saya observed her, keeping her arms crossed. “Then maybe you should talk to him about it,” she said, “That’s what he’s told people.” 

Maelyn glared at his back as he left the room. “Thanks, Saya,” she said, grabbing her uniform from her desk, “I’ll see you around.”

Maelyn followed him out of the class, keeping a few people between them. Who was he to say that? Why would he? It’s a trap. He’s using it to force her closer to him so then he gets easier access. Perhaps Templars paid him for information on her. School rules state students can’t kill one another, so he might be sticking to that instead. He’d been homeless before coming to King’s. He had no family, no friends, nothing before he came here. He’d make a perfect spy for them: he gives them what they want, he gets protection from the police and tons of money. Money a person who wears the same clothes every day needs. Right when she walked to him, a large mass came between them. 

“Hey Mouse.” Jaden reeked of weed despite the cologne he used to mask it. 

“Hey Jaden,” she replied irritably. Marcus was getting away. He’d reach the end of the hall soon; she’d like to get to him before he got to his AP class. “I-I gotta get to class-” she tried sidestepping him, but he grabbed her arm. 

“-I just wanted to talk to you,” he said, pushing wavy hair from his face. “I know you’re with that Rat Marcus and everything, but you can do a lot better than him.” He leaned down, the bitter scent of cologne and drugs on him, and said, “I’m a Legacy, you know. That means I can do a lot more for you than he can.”

“I doubt it,” she pulled her arm from him, “Leave me alone.” 

“I can protect you,” he took her again, “Something he can’t-”

“-I can protect myself thanks,” she yanked away from him. “Now, if you come at me again you’re gonna wish you hadn’t.” 

“What are you gonna do?” he towered over her, “Squeak at me?”

In a flash, her palm struck up right to his nose. Blood instantly spewed from his nostrils into his mouth; drops of it still on her palm. People around them continued walking while others stopped to gawk at them. Another arm linked around hers quickly, the person nearly dragging her away before the monks saw her. Maelyn struggled against it until the person let her go inside the girls’ bathroom. 

“Starting fights in the hallway is a damn good way to get yourself killed,” Saya said firmly. She grabbed a paper towel and wet it in the sink. “The Hessians might be burnouts, but they won’t take to you giving one of their own a bloody nose.” She handed the wet towel to Maelyn, who wiped her hand. 

“He was being a pig,” she said. “What is it with the guys in this school?”

“Well, they’re guys for one thing,” Saya leaned against a sink, “Two, you don’t have a crazy rep so they think you’re weak. Three, you’re new and pretty.” 

“I’m not weak.” She was far from weak. She’s made sure of that most of her life. She won’t end up like her mother. She won’t die in a ditch.

‘That’s not fair. Mom wasn’t weak. She’d died fighting against them.’ 

“Prove it. If you really aren’t, make them see you’re not.”

She side eyed her. “Why are you being nice to me? Legacies aren’t supposed to talk to us. It’s like an unwritten rule around here.”

“I make my own rules,” she affirmed. “One of the rules to surviving King’s is not to piss anyone off; that includes the Hessians. Just keep your head down, take the lumps and you’ll be fine.”

“So, I’m supposed to just let people be mean to me completely unprovoked?”

“It lets them feel like they’re superior to you,” she said. She held Maelyn’s gaze when she said, “Because they’re not.” 

She’s only saying that. She truly doesn’t care what happens to her. Honestly, did anybody? Petra and her grew somewhat close because they’re the only girl Rats and have similar interests. Billy and Lex are nice and highly accepting of her into their group. Marcus...She still debated about him. All the people she trusted are far away underground in The Bureau. Her father is at home most likely or abroad. The second person is in her penthouse in London, probably enjoying afternoon tea with her loyal bloodhound at her feet. Maelyn didn’t know because nobody told her anything. They stuck her in a school, told her to play dumb and kept her out of the loop. Not a scrap of news. Not a hint of acknowledgement. The dreaded stinging of tears came, though she hid them from Saya. 

“Hey,” she touched Maelyn gently, “This place isn’t all bad. You just gotta adjust to it. It’s because you’re not like them so they pick on you. It’s why you have that stupid nickname.”

Nobody cared. Not a single person. They left her on her own, defenseless and helpless. She had boys dogging her; another saying he’s her boyfriend so he can kill her. She had Nazis bullying her and calling her names. They all thought themselves so above her because their families came to King’s first. No. HER ancestors came here first. The Brotherhood helped build it; the picture of O’Leary and Lin’s grandfather proved that. The Brotherhood has stood for thousands of years since the time of Egyptian pharaohs; possibly even before that if the Isu can be believed. Adam and Eve. There’s a reason The Apples and The Pieces are so important to The Brotherhood. They belonged to the Brotherhood. She belonged to The Brotherhood. 

“I have more legacy in my pinky toe than all those pussy Legacies have put together,” she snarled. She grabbed her bag, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get to my Beginner’s Combat class now.” Ugh, she hated even saying the words. 

She left a confused Saya in the bathroom and stormed down the hall. She hated being there. The wooden hallways with their soft lighting and wood floors trapped her. The place suffocated her. The Bureau may have been underground, but they’d given her freedom. Here, they stuffed their rules down her throat, written or not. She passed by the training room today, heading for the courtyard outside instead. Even in the small circular space between buildings her chest tightened. Higher. She needed to go higher. The Graveyard. It’s the highest place in the school. She climbed the metal stairs going to the top, a sudden rush pushing her further. Maelyn knew the trainers will note her absence. They’ll probably send the monks to collect her; she’ll be punished for skipping a class. She didn’t care. She’ll let them come find her. She pushed the door open once she reached the top, and breathed in the air. 

She let her hair blow in the wind; she tried feeling every gust going through her. The air smelled different without the gang puffing cigarettes or blunts. It smelled crisp and clear being so high up from the city. Putting her bag by the chairs, Maelyn sat on the ledge. She’d sat in high places before; it’d become a habit her father hated. No noise. No smoke. The world is quiet when you’re high up. As she surveyed the city skyline ahead, a gliding black figure caught her eye. Wings spread wide, the bird soared around in circles before perching himself a few feet from her. Feathers of light brown and gold all over, Arno called out in high pitches to her. She pulled a binder from her bag, put it over her arm and held it out for him. 

“Hey you,” she smiled, petting him once he landed. His claws dug into the hard plastic, but it was better than her bare arm. “Miss me? I bet it sucks back home, huh?” Arno put his head under her hand, letting her stroke his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back there soon. Then we can fly together.” 

Her mother taught her how to run; how to really fly. Before she’d stumble, fall, and trip over things whenever she did obstacle courses in the Bureau. Then one day her mother took her to an abandoned construction site in the city. They had Jewel back then, a white and brown eagle who flew higher and dove lower than any bird Maelyn ever saw. They’d stood atop a set of various buildings. Her mother let her do a simple run where she jumped over equipment, climbed walls and slid through open spaces in walls. Instead, Maelyn hit a few walls, fell on her back once or twice and only made it halfway through cracks. Regardless, her mother made her run through it several times despite all the bumps and bruises. 

“You hesitate too much,” Maelyn said out loud, almost hearing her voice in her head. “She told me to fly like Jewel. Try not to think too much about it and just go. Plan your movements as you go along, she said, but let your body do the rest. She let Jewel go up in the air when we went up top. She told me to follow her. I got better after a few tries. We kept on going back until I beat the obstacle course. Then she gave me you as a present,” She continued stroking Arno’s feathers. “I miss her. I don’t think she was weak; I take that back. I like to think she didn’t give into them. She fought them until the end, even when her brain went fuzzy. She died fighting them. It’s…” she sighed, looking back to the horizon. “I hate being here. I hate having to be someone I’m not. I hate being weak or dumb or naive. If I had it my way, I’d have my gauntlets all the time. Then none of them would fuck with me.” She scoffed, “I went from sneaking into restricted areas and catching people off guard to playing it safe. Isn’t that something?” Arno nipped at her finger, “I don’t have anything to give you, greedy. You already ate anyways. I can tell from your beak.” She wiped a spot of dried blood from him. “Mama would’ve hated it here too. I’d like to think she’d be against me coming. She wouldn’t want me around strangers; she’d want me with family. Everybody here is only out for themselves, and Mama used to say you can’t trust people like that.”

“You can never really trust anyone.”

She whipped her head around and saw Marcus by the chair. What she wouldn’t give to knife him right then. She stopped petting Arno, but watched Marcus intently. Her eyes searched him. Not to see how his uniform fit him just right or how he parted his hair. She looked for signs of a gun or a knife. Hell, he can push her and say she fell. Keeping Arno perched on her binder, she swung her leg up from the other side so she faced him. If he made a move, Arno will get him. 

“No, you can’t,” she agreed. “What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Black Arts right now, aren’t you?”

“Lin gave us a field assignment.”

“So you came up here to smoke. Wonderful. Please, go ahead and pollute my fresh air.”

“As much as I could use one, I’m not here for that.”

“Then you’re here for me. He put you up to it, didn’t he?”

“He heard you skipped your combat class, so he instructed us to come find you and bring you in. I mean,” he took a step forward, keeping his eyes on her, “Not that it’ll be hard. You’re so small and weak, right?”

“Says the guy who gets into fights he can’t win,” she rolled her eyes. “You should pick your battles a little more carefully from now on. You might end up in one that gets you killed.”

He paused, still watching her watching him. “I didn’t tell people we were dating because I wanted to look cool or anything.”

“Because ‘cool’ is the last thing you are.”

“I told Willie that so guys will stop coming after you,” he said. “He-He asked me if we were and I said ‘yes’.”

“Oh, so you’re helping me by making me look easy, huh?”

“No, I’m helping you by making people think you’re protected.”

“Ha! You protect me? That’s a laugh.”

“Everyone around here thinks I’m some kind of arsonist psycho, so yeah. Having me might make things easier for you.”

“I’m still failing to see the logic in that. Nobody seems very scared of you.”

“Half of them are, and half is better than none at all.” He stepped forward once more, “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you first, but it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. I just thought I’d ease some of those troubles for you by telling people you’re mine.”

“I’m not yours.”

“And you don’t have to be...in private. Once guys here see that we’re serious, they’ll back off. Shabnam already has because he thinks we like each other. I mean, I told him at first there was nothing going on, but he didn’t believe me.” 

“The only way guys will get away from me is if they think I’m someone’s property? Nice. You men are pigs.”

“You’re not my property-”

“-Damn right I’m not-”

“-But you being my girl helps a lot. Me being your guy helps a lot too. To survive here, you need friends and people who will have your back. I think I’ve proven I’ve had your back before.” 

He was right. That’s all anyone ever said since she first got there: gangs and friends help you survive. She supposed a boyfriend who will do anything for her is an extra layer; especially if that boyfriend burnt down an entire boys’ home with people in it. He had been there for her at the party. She’d been too much into the music to notice the mercenary, but Marcus did. He’d stayed with her all night until she left him by an unconscious body. He’d fought alongside her much like in Atypical. Looking at him, she could do much worse. “We’re not together,” she demanded. “Only in front of people. No kissing or touching me or anything like that.”

“But, if I’m your boyfriend I kinda have to,” he stopped a few steps short. “It’d be weird if a new couple didn’t go through a honeymoon phase where they make out in hallways and stuff. Plus, they already think we fucked so it’d be extra awkward.”

“I meant when there’s nobody around. Obviously if we’re in public I’d have to do that stuff.”

He gave a quick laugh, “Fuck, calm down. I’m overwhelmed by your elation.” Marcus finally reached her, looking down at Arno on her arm. “Cool bird. Did you use your cute Snow White vibes to call him?”

“He’s mine. He probably saw me while he was hunting,” she said. It was odd to find him in the city. Arno often ventured further out for his meals. She saw Marcus reach a hand to him, “I wouldn’t. He gets antsy around strangers, so he sometimes bites…”

Arno did not bite. He did not cry or flap his wings. The golden eagle stayed still as Marcus gently brushed his feathers. Arno never let anyone other than fellow Assassins touch him. Her mother said they share a deep connection to eagles through their sight. Of course, she then said it’s all speculation from past Assassins. Arno not biting Marcus gave her another reason to watch him. 

“Oh yeah,” Marcus grinned, “Very vicious bird. What’s his name?”

“Arno...after one of my great grandfathers. He was part of the French Revolution. You know, the one where they dismantled the monarchy by chopping off everyone’s heads?” 

“You certainly know a lot about your family.”

“My dad’s really proud of it, so he taught me a whole bunch of stuff.” Also it’s part of training. 

“Way more than I know that’s for sure. The most I know is that we came from Italy and moved to South America ages ago.” He paused, “He’s got something on his leg.”

“What?”

Attached by a rubber band was a small roll of paper. How she missed it, she didn’t know, but she took it off Arno carefully. 

“You know,” Marcus said as she unrolled it, “We have these things called telephones. There’s one in the student dorm.”

She rolled her eyes at him and looked at the paper. It was a phone number with the words “Call me if you ever need to talk. -E” written in pretty cursive letters. The only other person. Ellen. It’s as if she read her from hundreds of miles away. “Maybe they didn’t know where to find me,” she offered, putting the scrap in her pocket. “And thanks to Arno, now they do.” 

Giving him one last pet, Maelyn raised her arm again and he took off. The pair watched him circle around the buildings a few minutes, then flap his wings towards the city. He’ll be going home now to his perch in her bedroom. A place she wished she could go. She felt for the paper in her pocket and swallowed thickly. 

“So, about us pretend dating-”

“-I’m in,” she sighed. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Better that way, I guess.” She thought of Saya, “It’s a win-win.”

“A win-win?”

“I have you to ‘protect’ me and you have me to keep you from doing dumb shit.”

He nodded, “Fair enough.” 

She only hoped it was enough in the end


End file.
